


Kiss & Cry

by bun_o_ween



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Adult Ciel Phantomhive, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Eating Disorders, Ice Skating, M/M, Polyamory, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-10 13:40:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 50,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13502660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bun_o_ween/pseuds/bun_o_ween
Summary: Tattoos. Peach-flavoured boba tea. Bruises. Hungry, feral staring.AU where Sebastian wants Ciel. Agni wants Sebastian. And Ciel just wants them both.





	1. Heaven's On Fire

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know fucking anything about ice hockey and my figure skating knowledge goes no further than what I saw in YOI, ahah. Please uh... please ignore my lack of knowledge... and gimme some kudos if you dig this.
> 
> Warnings will be updated in later chapters.

“He's doing it again.”

Ciel flicked his eye up to the opposite side of the skate-rink. The stadium was still musky from hockey practice but the miasma of young men wasn't the only thing that lingered. The twenty-year-old skater pulled at the cords of his headphones and glared under his lashes at the man waiting on the far side of the rink. Ciel twitched his nose and swallowed.

“Stop it, Alois.” He tucked the cords of his headphones into his sweater, threaded his phone through and stepped back into an easy, lazy line on the steaming ice. His skin pricked as eyes watched the back of his head. Alois straightened up as his friend pushed away from the barricade, cream-coloured skates switching as he turned and pressed play on his phone. He saw the blonde boy mouth at him again. _He's staring_. He enunciated it perfectly because he knew Ciel was purposefully drowning him out with dulcet music.

But… _He_ was indeed staring.

Ciel stretched. He shook the eyes off his skin and turned tight, idle circles into the centre of the skate rink. When he spun his hair flipped, and he caught sight of _him_ under the flop of his fringe. When he turned the other way he could see Alois, head cocked and giving Ciel the biggest, shit-eating smirk he could manage. Like a self-satisfied puppy. He looked away to change the song on his phone. He couldn't find anything good. Not with that asshole on one end of him, and the _other asshole_ on the other end.

He skipped a song. Glanced up. He could still hear the hockey team all the way from the showers. Over his music. They were all in there. Loud as hell. But _he_ wasn't. Ciel jabbed at his phone screen, his black gloves numbing the connection. The songs skipped sluggishly. He spun to see Alois. He twirled back to see the other guy.

 _Michaelis_. The infamous hockey champion.

Ciel audibly clicked his teeth. Clicked it in time to the disappointed noise of his playlist. _Click, click, click_. Aborted songs dying seconds after playing – thrown away because Ciel couldn't settle on a song, couldn't settle with those warm, brown eyes drilling a hole into the side of his fucking head.

Michaelis had been staring for a fortnight.

Two weeks ago Ciel had switched from training at his small home-town-rink, to the professional sport's stadium in the city. Now that he was training up to four hours a day, he needed a private rink closer to home, but more importantly - with less people. Less parents. Less children. Less novice skaters wobbling about on ice while others, like Ciel, narrowly avoided them. His new rink was state of the art, and training grounds to the most famous skaters in the region, and the world. Skaters like Charles Grey, two-time gold Olympian, and Ciel's childhood hero.

Unfortunately, it was also home to the city's reigning hockey champions, the Howlers. 

They were unavoidable. The only time slot Ciel could manage was directly _after_ their's. They made the ice stink. Like sweat, and blood. They carved it up, left crooked spots on the rink where the pack of idiots ripped it up and smacked at it with their… stick... _things_. Ciel wrinkled his nose again. He flicked his lashes up, gave his stalker an annoyed look and narrowed his one good eye.

He could still remember the way the team reacted when he'd first arrived, two weeks ago. They'd been lingering after practice. Talking. Pushing each other on the ice and laughing so loud it echoed off the domed ceiling. Ciel had taken a deep breath, removed his guards and stepped out onto the ice, head down and pretending not to hear them. Acting like he had music playing in his candy-coloured headphones and not the static of his own pulse. But, he did hear them. Felt them at first, eyes on his skin. Excited whispering, which he'd grown used to with his rise to fame. But what he wasn't use to was the wolf whistle. A sound that made Ciel’s heart seize up and his skin prick. With his lashes down at the ice he could only see their black skates disappear pair by pair, making room for the steadily increasing circles Ciel spun, picking up speed and confidence.

When he lifted his chin up he finally saw _him_ for the first time. He recognised him instantly from the magazines. The posters. The Buzzfeed article about the Howlers and their ruthless center. Sebastian Michaelis. Hell on ice. Ciel pretended not to look at the team. But _oh_ , he couldn’t ignore  them. All dark sweats, shoulder pads, bandaged wrists and hair that stuck out at every angle.

They lingered. Watched Ciel spin into a flurry. They broke away one by one, attention spans snapping individually. Michaelis had lingered the longest though. In his faded old sweatshirt, with that stupid goth guy on it – _ugh_. Ciel recoiled at the memory. Marilyn Manson, or some shit. He didn’t know what he found scarier - the sweatshirt, or the way Michaelis had watched him. With dark, intense eyes - cheek blood-red with a bruise. Ciel couldn’t figure out what he wanted, when he looked at him in that way.

And after that first practice Ciel had  been too embarrassed to go to the men's locker room, in fear they’d still be there. So he showered in the women's bathroom instead, trying not to shake as he lifted his sweat-damp skate shirt off his upper body. Mortified. He refused to cry. He buried it deep into the darkest place of himself and transcended the situation. And then, instead of giving up – he continued to show up for practice at the same time every other morning, no matter how many times they whistled, and stared, and lingered.

Ciel lifted his eyes to the hockey player and looked down the line of his nose, raising his arm above his head as he slipped into a spin. His posture was perfect, fingers delicate. Ciel smiled to himself and his heart steadied. He was a good skater. A _great_ one. He'd won gold at the Grand Prix Finals last year and with the new season starting, he was America’s favourite for a chance at the Olympics. Or at least, that's what they were saying about him in the headlines. Ciel slowed, ice flitted, and he made eye contact with the hockey player and lifted his chin. The asshole was bent over the barricade, arms crossed – sweater pushed up his arms and Ciel could see they were inked all over in tattoos but he couldn't see what of. He could see his bandaged wrist, though. His blood-dark knuckles. Ciel wasn’t the only one who’d been in the headlines. Michaelis was infamous for fighting on the rink.

Ciel wished he didn't know that. Alois had told him about it. Alois never shut up about them, really. The whole team. He went to their games. Wore a red marl t-shirt with their logo on it. Ciel was pretty sure he has a crush on the blonde, tattooed one. The older Delacroix brother.

Ciel widened his circles. Jumped. A salchow. He forgot about his small audience and focused on the ice under his skates, the thrum in his body and the evening twilight coming down through the glass ceiling. The smell of ice. His heart matching the tempo of the song in his ears. He breathed in, extended his leg behind him and turned into a flawless haircutter spin, his muscles burning. He loved the pain of it. How strong he felt. The sensation of pushing himself to the limit, and even further. With his first major competition of the season weeks away, Ciel couldn't be distracted by stupid, tall men. He had gold to win, and a place at the Finals to earn.

When he came out of the spin, when the blood came back to his face and he slipped backwards and sighed at the cool air on his neck, he realised he was much closer to the opposite side of the rink. Alois's hair was a blonde tuft in the distance. Then suddenly, like a rip-tide, he realised he’d been sucked out to sea with the sharks and Michaelis himself was barely ten feet away. Ciel turned. Chewed his mouth, a nervous habit. The other man watched him with wide, brown eyes.

No. Not _just_ brown. Amber. Ochre. Like Utah dirt. Like blood. Watching him like a dog watched _meat_. Ciel swallowed and skipped back on his strong ankle, pushed away and shoved his hair behind his pink ear.

He couldn’t stand dogs.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

“What's he want?” Ciel muttered after practice.

The locker room was fogged over. The hockey team was gone. Their smell still stuck to the shower walls. Ciel stood under the stream, cold on his tepid flesh. He rubbed at a bruise on the top of his thigh and winced.

“He just wants to get his dick wet.” Alois yelled from the stall beside him. Ciel made a loud gagging noise.

“That was fake!” Alois's laughter echoed off the walls a thousand times. “You don't even _have_ a gag reflex.”

“Yes I do!” Ciel bit, cheeks burning. " _You_ don't have a gag reflex," he added, blushing more at his stupid retort. “What does that even mean, anyway? Get his dick wet? Please.”

He heard Alois laugh at him and his cheeks stung. With his shoulders still under the stream he plucked his phone from the crumpled pile of his training clothes and typed _get his dick wet_ into the browser. His nose crinkled and he threw his phone back down onto the nest of clothes.

“ _Gross_ , Alois.” The other laughed, faint echo of his phone speaker through the steamy shower room. Ciel watched his feet turn under the barricade, looked at his own tiny toes on the white ceramic, and shook the freaky hockey player out of his head. _Yeah_. Gross.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Alois should have been a hockey player.

In their city there was really only two things you could do (if you were competitively inclined) - figure skating or hockey. The Olympic sized skate rink the pair trained at was designed for both professional sports, and Alois really should have been the latter.

Ciel watched him eat, grease on his bottom lip. He spoke like one. Swore like one. Dressed like one. Orange cheese dripped out the edges of his burger and hit the flimsy red-and-white paper with a plop. _Ate like one_. Ciel raised his eyebrow and looked down at the salad he was poking through. But Alois was cursed with a petite body and bird-like bones (just as Ciel) and in the skating community neither of those were seen as curses at all.

“You should try some of this,” Alois said around a mouthful of lettuce and meat. A thick chunk of his blonde hair sat across his eyes. He was trying to grow it out, wanted to look like some famous Russian figure skater. Ciel punched a cherry tomato onto the end of his fork and shook his head.

“You know I won’t,” he said, thumb scrolling through his feed as he popped the little fruit into his mouth. It tasted sad. He glanced at the oozing, orange cheese in Alois’s hand.

"Come on peanut," the blonde sighed. His voice sounded nasty stuffed with food like that. "I know you're stressed out, but a little cheese isn't gonna hurt you."

Ciel glanced up, watching a string of it ooze from the lip of the burger and onto the checkered paper below with a _plop_.

"That's not in my diet," he said curtly, flicking his eyes back down to his phone. "I can't put anymore weight on." His best friend snorted, using his tongue to catch a crumb of burger bun on his lower lip.

"I worry about you when you talk like that," he said, eyes narrowing as he chewed. "I'd rather _die_ than starve myself."

“And that’s why you’ll never make it to Finals.” Ciel said curtly, raising an eyebrow without even looking up. Alois shrugged, staring out the window at the rain falling outside, and pedestrians bustling by under their umbrellas. There was some old song on, playing faintly through the hum of the 50s style diner.

"Ciel," the blonde said, and his mouth wasn't full, and suddenly he was serious. His fingers walked themselves across the table towards Ciel's, and tapped against the back of his hand. "Come on. I know..." he trailed off, frowning. "I know that you're really focused this season and all, but I worry about you. You used to always share fries with me, peanut."

Ciel swallowed, and glanced down at the cheesy mess between them.

"Just once, can't we hang out again like normal?" His hand covered Ciel's and squeezed, and his mouth quirked up in a serious smile. The look in his bright, blue eyes made Ciel feel heavier and guiltier than the cheese had. "Forget you're super, duper famous and all. Go out and get drunk. Act like idiots."

Ciel's mouth quirked up. " _Act_ like idiots?"

Alois rolled his eyes, taking another bite of his burger with his free hand. He spoke with his mouth full, lettuce caught between his teeth.

" _Come on_ ," he begged. "What are you doing tonight?"

Ciel's smirk faltered and he looked down at his salad, shrugging as he tried to look nonchalant. "I'm seeing Charles tonight."

He could see Alois's face fall in his peripheral.

"I know you don't like him," he added. His nose twitched.

“No, I like him,” Alois said slowly. He put down his burger. _Uh-oh_. Ciel lifted his eye from the smooshed remains of his flavourless salad. “What’s not to like? He’s handsome. Famous. And didn't he win the Olympics, or something?”

“He won twice, actually. So what’s the problem?” Ciel severed a cherry tomato in half.

“I just don’t like what he does to you.” 

“He doesn’t _do_ anything to me.” His pulse doubled. Tripled when Alois shook his head and laughed rudely.

“So he’s finally taking you out on a date?” There was no joy in the way he grinned, mouth a tight line.

“It’s not like that, I see him as a-”

“As a _mentor_ , I know,” Alois trilled, hand clasped over his heart as he batted his eyelashes like a Nickelodeon star. Ciel’s nose twitched. Alois’s face fell back into a concerned line. “He’s using you.”

Ciel flicked his eyes down to the cooled cheese on Alois’s rummaged fries and frowned. His body ached. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Alois sighed, glancing down to where Ciel stared like a starved animal at his remaining fries. He plucked two fries from the envied stack, dipped them thickly in the sticky cheese. He offered them to Ciel’s mouth and the twenty-year-old looked away, pressing his mouth into a thin line.

"I don't want any," he lied. He could smell them. He swallowed, knowing Alois was staring hard at the side of his face. His fingers were covered in grease, sticky with the cheese as he waited patiently, armed with bait that he knew Ciel always went for. He raised one perfect, blonde eyebrow and Ciel sighed, leaning in to quickly bite the fries right from his best friend's fingers. He huffed, hating how good the salt and the cheese tasted, and he thumped his fist against the diner table as he swallowed, annoyed at how easily he was talking into betraying his immaculate, intricate, specially-designed diet just for some cheese fries.

"If I don't place at Skate America, I'll kill you," Ciel groaned, pressing his tongue to the corner of his mouth to chase the last of the flavour. His half-eaten salad sat sadly before him, looking doubly unappealing now he had fast food on the back of his tongue.

"Don't be dramatic," Alois sighed. "You always place. You're Ciel _fucking_ Phantomhive." He took a sip of his strawberry lemonade, slurping like they weren't in a crowded diner. "The waitress literally asked for your signature."

Ciel's cheeks burnt and he leaned forward into his hand, glancing out the window. 

"That sort of thing makes me feel so weird," he sighed, his shoulders tensing as he clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth. He could still taste the cheese against them, and he knew when he got home that afternoon he would obsess about it for hours. And most likely push himself harder in the gym tomorrow. His best friend flashed him a pout, over-exaggerated as he pressed his palm over his heart, batting his thick eyelashes from across the table.

"Oh no," he sighed, shaking his head as a rude smirk stretched over his face. "It must be so hard being _America's sweetheart_."

And Ciel kicked him hard underneath the table, trying not to smile too.

……………………………………………………………………………


	2. Kickstart My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's some heavy stuff in the beginning, but y'all should expect that from me by now.

It played out like a movie.

The highway. The rain. The kiss and cry of car lights zipping by, illuminating the undercurrent of Ciel’s blue eyes like a lighthouse on the ocean. He knew how it looked, how deep and terrifying his eyes could be - saw it reflected in his brother’s eyes as they lit up with passing traffic, white and red. The backdrop of racing rivulets slipping down the tinted black glass of the family car. Finger sketches in the foggy corners, coy and forbidden.

He’d replayed it ten-thousand times.

His brother’s hair shifted on the leather seat as he turned to look at him. Their parent’s voices low and chattering. Ciel remembered the way his sibling’s mouth moved as it opened, the small twitch of his nose to tell him something - then the car smacked into the semi-trailer in front of them, and was crushed into oblivion by the four-wheel-drive in the rear.

The screech of metal. A scream to match the pitch. An organic crunch and the purr of an engine, a puttering of power as the radio flickered static and died. His mother’s hair stuck through the seat in front of him and that’s all that was left of their parents. That - and the smattered chunks of blood sprayed across the twin’s noses. They were too shocked to cry and the noise of dripping petrol and wet bodies was the only sound above the ringing.

Then there were voices. An iron groan. 

A sniffle and the distraction of a shaking, gentle hand over the back of Ciel’s own. His brother’s eyes were caught in the car lights, the pop of cameras. The flash of lighting. His hair lit up bright blue and black with blood. Ciel barely felt his own face bleed. He turned his palm up to hold his brother’s hand and the shock ebbed away to make room for the overwhelming crush of the car on the caps of his knees. He pulled his bleeding legs through the narrow space between the passenger seat and his own. His brother moved to do the same and stopped, a wet, laboured sob in the narrow space between them.

“Ciel, I can’t move.”

Masks. Cameras. Screaming. The explosion. The heat. The darkness. The split second of peace before Ciel realised the calm white above his head wasn’t heaven but the blankness of a hospital ceiling. And, as he blinked, that he could only see through one eye. 

His entire family - dead. They played the story on TV for three days and showed the same photo of the crash over and over. At ten years old and heart-deep in shock, Ciel hardly realised the photo was of him. Thrown over the shoulder of a firefighter like a bleeding sack of potatoes. Screaming. Reaching for the family that was already gone.

The photo went on to win a prize.

It rained at the funeral. Rained during the procession. Rained like it did the day his family was killed on the exact same road. Even at that age Ciel distinctly remembered wanting more than anything for a car to obliterate his body into the three hearses in front of him. He fantasised about it, unblinking. He didn’t cry when his mother, father and brother went six feet beneath his polished, expensive shoes. The Phantomhives - buried in bulk.

He was back in the rink hours after the funeral.

Skating. Ballet. Jogging. Gym. His life worked on auto-pilot after they died and it hadn’t stopped. The people who loved him did nothing but stand behind the barricades and watch the last Phantomhive sell his soul to ice-skating. The entire nation watched him rise in talent, in sponsors. In fame. Popularity. Records. All cold, pretty things to stuff into the void his family’s death had left behind. _American’s orphaned hero_. Everything about Ciel’s horrible past had a pretty ring in the headlines.

Ciel sighed and tapped the end of his pointe shoe into the polished floorboards, leg clad in black fabric and thigh tight. Hs aunt clicked her teeth together and twisted her wrist, moved her hand in the way that said _again_. Raised her eyebrow and told Ciel his routine wasn’t good enough, all with a quirk of her lips and no words. Ciel shot her back a look of his own and breathed out.

He did the ballet routine again, on limber legs, hair falling before his eyes and the vision of his brother’s crushed body playing a thousand times over behind his eyelids. He relived every second of it in hyper-realistic slow motion. Then it played out again in fast forward. Every day. A million times. It made him feel nothing, and it made him feel everything. A mediocre horror story.

Ciel breathed out, and extended his hand up to the ceiling.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Charles Grey was Ciel’s idol.

 _Idol_. He didn’t use the word lightly. When Ciel was thirteen he pinned posters of Charles to his bedroom wall, stuck them down neatly with tacks and smoothed his thumb over the milky gloss of his high cheekbones and slender fingers. Stared up at him from his bed, woke up and glanced at those icy blue eyes first thing in the morning - skipping meals to look as thin as him. Doubling his skate time to be as talented as him. 

Ciel remembered every gold medal Charles won. Watched him sweep victory off it’s feet at the Olympics, at Sochi, hair pinned back and sweat on his brow as bright as the sequins glinting in the spotlight. All alabaster costumes and hair that fell like silk. And now Ciel was sitting on the sofa next to him, sipping peach-flavoured boba tea as he stared at the celebrity himself. Charles looked exactly the same way as he did on print, on screen. Photoshopped and not a piece of him out of place.

Ciel sucked a tapioca ball into his mouth as he watched Charle’s thick, white eyelashes dart down the face of his phone, nose and eyes illuminated in the glow. It was an article about Ciel, and his skate in Canada last month. Ciel chewed another squishy bubble as he watched Charles read, legs tucked under his body on the plush of the other man’s expensive, leather sofa. The sky bled dusk into glittering night, city in full view from the floor-to-ceiling windows in the medalist’s penthouse apartment.

“Your component score was good,” Charles praised suddenly, eyes not lifting from the screen. He scrolled past a photo of Ciel in midnight blue, lingering with a faint smile before flicking up and continuing the article. Ciel kept sucking up the tapioca balls, one by one, bursting them behind his teeth. 

“And your line is beautiful, they said so in this one.” He tapped the screen once with his thumb and then blackened the display, looking up at Ciel with a pleased smile on his gorgeous, lip-chapped mouth. Ciel’s heart did a somersault at the attention and he chewed at the tacky end of his straw.

“Thank you,” he turned his cheek. Even in his apartment, on his couch, under the wing and mentorship of his idol, Ciel couldn’t shake the feeling of a thirteen-year-old kid obsessing over a celebrity. Every smile Charles gave him was a gift. Every compliment was a direct hit to his tender, overwhelmed heart. He sucked up another bubble and Charles’s flawless face faltered for a moment.

“You shouldn’t drink those,” the blonde clicked his teeth, raking his eyes down the plastic cup to the dancing fruit figures around the edges. Ciel stopped mid-sip, peach tea slipping back down the straw taking all the tapioca balls down to the bottom like the pit he felt forming in his stomach. 

“They’re all sugar,” the older frowned, sitting up. He wiggled closer to Ciel, couch dipping under his knees as he plucked the cup from the teenager’s fingers and read the label. This close, Ciel could smell the elegant, sweet perfume on his neck and see all the seperate strands of ivory hair move and shift with his body. He was so thin, perfect. His cream-coloured joggers brushed up against Ciel’s own, still dressed in their gym clothes from earlier. 

“See?” He inclined the label to Ciel, manicured finger tapping at the nutrition value. When he settled back down on the couch he was much closer to the twenty-year-old, arm resting on the plush leather behind him. 

“Oh.” Ciel screwed up his nose at the sugary drink and sat it on the coffee table, settling back into the claustrophobic space Charles had created beside him. He smelt insanely good. He looked even better. Ciel closed his eyes for a second, breath shaky, and a finger touched the underside of his chin.

“Did you see last week’s article?” Charles dropped his voice down lower. Ciel opened his eye to see how close he was, knees inclined towards the boy. The touch to his chin burnt him and the teenager shook his head. Charles smiled coyly.

“They accused us of dating privately, _again_.” Ciel gulped. Charles let go of his chin but brushed his knuckles over the edge of Ciel’s cheek, laughing lightly into his hairline. 

“Does it annoy you? When they say we’re dating?” Ciel asked, fingers coiled by his side as he looked past Charles and at the abandoned tea on the coffee table. He saw the other shake his head in his peripheral. He wasn’t much taller than Ciel but he was intimidating. Beautiful without blemish. The blonde inclined his nose to press to the young man's cheek, breath suddenly so close it evoked goosebumps on his lily skin.

“You’re beautiful, Ciel.” Ciel laughed meanly in his own head, self-doubting. Charles thinks _he’s_ beautiful. One of those slender, polished fingers tucked back the boy’s hair and settled it behind his pierced ear. “Talented. Young. You have a real chance at the Olympics this year.” Ciel’s cheeks went red with the praise. “I don’t mind if people think we’re together.”

Ciel exhaled, trying to hide how he shivered at the words, eye focused on the stupid, fatty tea as Charles took him to cloud nine and left him up there, shaking and pink in the cheeks. The boy sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and struggled to take a deep breath, eyelashes lidding at how the gold-medalist’s nose ducked in against the shell of his ear.

“Thank you,” he said again, dumbly. The only thing he could say when praised beyond all expectations, doted on by the man he’d had pinned to his bedroom wall for six years. He said it to the tea, too scared to turned his cheek and meet the other’s smiling lips. Charles turned to look too, eyebrows pressing together at the abandoned boba cup.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Phantomhive.” He laughed, pulled back and wriggled on the couch and it jostled Ciel from his fantasy, He blinked once. Twice. Charles tugged at the bottom of Ciel’s gym shirt, pulled it down until it covered the inch of skin that had been showing. Ciel didn’t even notice. Before Charles pulled away, he pinched the skin of Ciel’s belly between his knuckles and frowned, backing up and snatching his phone off the leather to continue reading.

“Have the tea if you want,” he shrugged. His pretty hair hit the velvet cushions and he turned all his divine devotion back to the internet. Ciel stared at the plastic cup, but all he could feel was the hot pinch on the fat of his stomach.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

It was a cold and frigid morning, and by the time Ciel made it to the rink the sun had barely risen high enough to melt the frost from the building’s steps.

Inside was warm. As warm as an ice-skating rink allowed for, enough for Ciel to shrug off his heavy coat and head towards the rink in his tights and sweater, gym bag slung over one shoulder and skates slung over the other. An echo of voices had him stop dead in his tracks, heart up in his throat.

Alois’s bright laughter was unmistakeable. Even in the spacious building, with a hundred walls and nooks for the sound to echo from, Ciel could tell it was the laugh the blonde reserved exclusively for flirting. The teenager fixed his eyes on the door and lifted his chin, barging through the entrance to fix his eyes on the little tuft of blonde hair on the opposite side of the room. No. He wasn’t alone. Ciel swallowed at the sight of two other, much taller men, standing over a foot taller than his best friend.

“What the fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

Alois perked up when he caught sight of his best friend. The sight was endearing, how honestly happy he seemed to see him despite being together yesterday. And the day before. _And the day before that._ It was almost sweet enough to forgive Alois for flirting with the stupidly tall men, who turned to look at Ciel when he approached the trio gingerly.

“Ciel!” Alois chirped, hand coming out to entwine with Ciel’s before tugging him close, drawing him up against his side. “Do you guys know my friend Ciel?”

He was so close to the men he could smell them, all sweat and sports deodorant and something distinctly masculine. Ciel scrunched his nose and flicked his eyes from their thicks arms to their padded shoulders. _Hockey players_. One blonde. One dark.

“Of course we know him,” said the marginally shorter blonde, head tilting to give Ciel a once over that left him feeling dirty. His shoulders were double the width of Ciel’s, a thick jaw to match. Tattoos blackened the girth of both arms, blonde hair stuck out at every angle like he hadn’t brushed it this morning. Like he figured it looked good like that. His nose was bent like his hair, slightly kinked in the middle like he’d snapped it once and never bothered to set it. He fixed Ciel with a blue-eyed smile and chewed at the toothpick in the corner of his mouth. Ciel said nothing, and darted his eyes to the other.

If the blonde was tall, the other was _gargantuan_. 

Dark skin. Bright eyes. Long, white hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, mottled bruise on the high line of his cheekbone and tattoos peeking out of his sleeveless shirt. Face that made the petite skater's heart beat just a little quicker. He was insanely handsome, and flicked his eyes down his tight biceps, to his wrist - bandaged tightly to the fingers. He wondered if it was mandatory for everyone on the hockey team to be big, tattooed and have ridiculous hair. _And stupidly hot_.

“This is Bard,” Alois nudged his chin at the buff blonde and Ciel raised his eyebrow at him, sides of his mouth quirking up in a faux, polite smile, “and Agni.”

The taller one, Agni, smiled in a way that made Ciel's stomach turn. He leaned  back on the barricade, tilting his head so his white hair fell forward and brushing against his biceps. His huge biceps. Ciel glared at them. Agni smiled wider, disarming him completely. 

"I've heard _a lot_ about you," Agni said, eyes narrowing prettily. His voice was warm and low. He had earrings. Little braids in his hair. The longer Ciel looked, the darker his cheeks burnt. He crossed his arms and shot Alois a look. 

"Huh," Ciel replied, readjusting his weight. Alois cleared his throat, staring daggers into the side of his smaller friend's head.

"Bard and Agni are on the hockey team," Alois added, raising his eyebrow like it that actually meant something. Ciel finally tucked his hair behind his ear, cast another look towards the players, and flashed them a fake smile.

“Really? I couldn’t tell.”

He made sure to rake his eyes over the bruises, the tattoos, and the worn-out jersey stretched over the bulky frame of the blonde. Agni laughed, deep and amused, eyes narrowing with mirth like Ciel had told a cute joke. The sound did something funny to the skater's gut. Alois kept staring at the two of them like he were deeply in love, like they weren’t gross, muscled jocks that stunk of sweat and blood.

Ciel clicked his teeth, shouldered his bag again, and headed to the changing rooms.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel smelt them before he saw them.

His heart dropped into his stomach. In his haze of anger he’d been distracted enough to forget what the presence of the two hockey players meant. That there were more. An entire team’s worth of players, and he only realised this when it was too late - lingering awkwardly in the doorway of the steamy change rooms.

The smell of aftershave and shampoo, sweat and men thickened the locker room, and Ciel had to lower his eye to avoid the stare of the hockey team. He tightened his hand around the strap of his bag and the hairs on the back of his neck raised as he kept to the edges of the room, trying to pass unnoticed to his locker, ignoring the mutters and the snickers. The harsh bang of a locker door made him flinch. More laughter. He steeled his limbs and tugged his lilac sweater off his shoulders, bundling it to throw into his locker alongside his canvas bag. A heavy palm slammed the door shut before he had the chance, and Ciel felt hot breath on the nape of his neck.

“Women’s lockers are across the hall.”

Ciel swallowed past the pit in his throat, turning slowly with his arms tugged close to his chest. His sleeveless shirt did nothing to hide the narrow width of his arms, his small shoulders, or even the dip of his feminine waist. He wore that, and thin, heather tights that stuck to his skinny thighs. He felt utterly exposed as he flicked his eyes up to a member of the city’s reigning hockey team. He matched the description. _Big_. _Tattooed_. Ciel flicked his eyes up past the player’s ringed eyes and to the mohawk on his shaved head. _Stupid hair_. He thumbed the bundled fabric of his sweatshirt and kept his chin up proudly.

“Not a woman,” he said lowly. The taller guy laughed, eyes bright and dangerous. The locker room had gone quiet but everyone continued to watch, Mohawk pressing his forearm into the locker above Ciel’s head and keeping him pinned in place.

“Could have fooled me,” he smirked, eyes flicking down Ciel’s body. The teenager held his sweatshirt to his chest, heart quivering. There was a whisper from the other boys. Mohawk reached out and took the sweater from his fingers and Ciel’s hands shook so badly he didn’t stop him. Couldn’t.

“Get away from me,” Ciel warned. He flicked his eyes down to the front of the hockey player’s chest, no longer able to keep up with the crazy glint in the taller’s eyes. His pale lilac sweater was scrunched up in the bruised knuckles of the other and it made the young man ill. Laughter tickled his hair. He reached out for his sweatshirt and it was pulled backwards and out of his grasp.

“Cut it out, Cheslock,” said a voice from across the room.

"Don't you know who that is?" Came another, followed by murmur of agreement - yet no one came to Ciel’s aide. He pressed his back harder against the cold cut of the locker doors, heart threatening to crack at any second. Unwilling tears pooled in his vision and he blinked down at the floor to hide them from the other.

“Do you want it?” The man asked. _Cheslock_ asked. Dangled his sweater out in front of him and smiled slowly when Ciel didn’t make a move to touch it. The teenager wanted to melt into the steel behind him, crawl away into the brick wall and die. The lump in his throat tightened and he couldn’t speak. He only stared at the space between them, Ciel’s socked feet going cold on the cement floor. Cheslock’s boots were a harsh contrast across from them.

All at once, the chattering and the snickering stopped, and the atmosphere in the crowded locker room changed. The fist with Ciel’s sweater in it lowered, and Cheslock turned his head over his shoulder. Ciel flicked his eyes up to follow.

“What’s going on?” 

 _Oh_.

Sebastian Michaelis’s hair was darker than any man’s Ciel had ever seen. Even under the white light of the fluorescent strips above, it gleamed like polished stone. His eyebrows and eyelashes were the same shade, vibrant against the older man’s pale skin, dotted with blood-red bruises and tattoos the same colour as his wounds and his hair. Up close he was taller than Cheslock, as tall as the two hockey players talking outside to Alois. He was wearing a tight, black shirt, hockey armour still strapped around his torso and shoulders. He stared at Cheslock, and at Ciel, and then finally at the lilac sweater in his teammates’s hand.

“Give it back to him.” Sebastian’s voice was low, and deep. And rough. Ciel turned his cheek into the cold locker door.

“We were just having fun,” Cheslock laughed, straightening his back and taking his hand off the locker door. Ciel let himself breath at last. None of the other boys in the room said a word.

“It doesn’t look like he’s having fun,” Sebastian said slowly, eyes finally glancing down to Ciel’s little frame, doing a quick once over. “Are you having fun?” Ciel ignored the way his voice went lower, softer. _Gentle_. The boy clicked his teeth and the tears in his eyes went hot with anger.

“Fuck you,” Ciel muttered through his teeth. Sebastian’s eyes widened. His shoulders went back. The words took a physical blow to every man in the room, the atmosphere of deodorant and sweat thickening to tense, calculated glares between them.

“Fuck me?” Sebastian repeated back, eyebrows up in surprise. He looked dumb. He looked like a mindless dog. Ciel ran his tongue over the back of his teeth and took stock of him. The teenager had never noticed how long his hair was before, a few strands of it against his cheekbones coming to rest at his collar, the rest of it bundled into an inky knot at the back of his head. The rest was exposed and shaved, an undercut. Ciel’s lip curled and he ducked down to grab the strings of his skates. He stalked off, cheeks pink as he realised the effect of him storming off was lost on the whisper-soft patter of his socked feet against the floor. He squared his shoulders to the room of snickering boys, and the prick of amber eyes on the back of his head.

As he left the bathroom he heard a hard, wet sound. Like skin against skin. A grunt. A violent echo of a punch, and the laughter and rambunctious shouting from the pack of idiots he left in his wake.

 _Dogs_.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

“Those were your _exact_ words?”

Ciel didn’t look up from his phone, eyelashes nonchalant. “Yeah.”

“You said fuck you?” Alois’s tone was incredulous, eyes wide and unblinking. Ciel nodded. 

“To Sebastian Michaelis?”

Ciel flicked his eye up and glared at his best friend, tongue wrapped around the skinny straw in his mouth. He nodded again and Alois lost it, eyebrows raised up to his hairline as he laughed, loud and shrill.

“I can’t believe it. You told him to fuck off? You? My pure little baby, told Sebastian Michaelis to _fuck off_?” Alois was on his back, laughing. His hair stuck to the linen and the pillows as he rolled his head back and forth, delirious with disbelief.

Ciel smirked slowly, taking a sip of sugar-free soda. “No. I said _fuck you_ , to Sebastian Michaelis.” He let the name drop off his tongue with malice, corner of his mouth quirking up at how carelessly he disposed of it. He laughed, low in his belly and he felt it through the mattress. Alois clicked his nails on the back of his phone case and beamed back at him, positively thrilled.

“Wait, which one was the asshole?”

His phone lit up again and he kept scrolling, Ciel leaning closer to look down at the screen so he could examine the hockey players one by one. The little previews of the images did nothing, all clad in black and red jerseys, helmets making most of their faces.

“They were all assholes.”

Alois shot him a look but Ciel ignored it in favour of tapping on the screen, bringing up a full-sized shot of Cheslock’s nasty face. Ciel huffed around his straw, dragging his eye up to give Alois an exasperated stare. 

“This one.”

The end of Alois’s nose turned up, tongue stuck out at the screen and he frowned, leaning in to nudge his shoulder against Ciel’s. They were lying hip to hip, bodies warm where they pressed together.

“Fuck that guy. Did you get your shirt back from him?”

“No,” Ciel sighed. He fell forward on his elbows, let his cheek press into the bedding that smelt like his friend’s soap and deodorant. ”He can keep it, probably smells like him now.” Alois gave him a look, staring at the side of his head. 

“What?”

“What did you think of Bard though? And Agni?” The blonde chewed on the corner of his lip and stared down at his phone, languidly scrolling through pictures of the entire team. “I didn’t think _they_ were assholes. They were nice, right?”

“Nice?” Ciel echoed, chewing his abused straw deeper into his mouth and sipping at the joyless soda. Alois tucked his silky hair behind his ear, long enough to stay in place.

“Yeah, they were really nice to me. And kinda hot, don’t you think?” His thumb paused on the screen and hovered over a picture of the same muscular blonde, mouth slanted up into a trademark smirk. Ciel recognised him immediately and narrowed his eye as Alois sighed. “Really hot, actually.”

“Yeah, if you like big, dumb dogs.” Alois’s shoulders dropped, fantasy disillusioned at Ciel’s dry voice.

“With huge, stupid biceps and shitty tattoos and messy fucking hair. Aren’t they insanely violent? How is that attractive?” Ciel stared at the screen, felt his lip curl up at the blonde, anger growing every second. The screen went black and Alois huffed.

“That’s _exactly_ my type. Besides, I only go to their games to watch them fight. It's actually insanely hot...”

Ciel wriggled closer to the bedsheets, his hip bumping Alois’s again. The faint, happy look on his friend’s face was enough to suck the venom from his heart and make him suck languidly at the soda between them.

“What’s your type, peanut?” Ciel groaned, burying his face into the bed.

“Don’t call me that.” Alois laughed, but waited. Ciel sighed out into the fabric, let the smell relax his shoulders, and when he peeked up again the blonde was waiting patiently. Behind him on the wall was a poster of the Russian skater he idolised, eyes narrowed, sequins of his white costume catching in the camera flash.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled. Alois kept flicking through his phone. Ciel took a sip of the soda, always forgetting how bad it tasted and recoiled at the flavour. He licked the taste out the corner of his mouth and Alois shot him a cheeky smile.

“Is it this?” He turned his phone and showed him a picture of Sebastian, on the sidelines during a match. His black jersey was rucked up over his thick, slick abs, and his dark hair was plastered to his head, padded glove clutching his stick and shoulder’s even wider with all the padding beneath his clothes.

“Don’t even joke about that,” Ciel groaned, but his eye lingered far too long on the photo.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel went stiff when he heard that voice again.

Like clockwork. Like sunrise. Like something he simply expected, Ciel raised his lashes and saw Sebastian Michaelis leaning on the barricade of the rink, bottle of water in his bruised and busted hand, watching Ciel as he skated. It was nothing new, except this time he was speaking to him.

“Hey _, you_.”

Ciel ignored him. He skated a little circle, and widened it, head down. He slid across to the far side of the rink and watched from under his fringe as Sebastian followed him with his eyes, arms tense on the barricade like he needed his attention. He wasn’t watching him today. No. His jaw was squared with determination. Ciel stared down at his phone but caught in his peripheral the moment Sebastian hopped the gate, and landed on the ice wearing _skates_.

The figure skater slipped his phone into the hem of his tights and turned his back on Sebastian, picking up speed so he could keep a thick distance between them. From over his shoulder he could see the words on the hockey player’s shirt, some dumb band from the 80s that his parents probably liked. Ciel pressed his lips together at the sad thought. The older man caught up to him within seconds.

“I’m sorry if my friend bothered you,” he said loudly, desperate for his attention. Ciel didn’t give it to him. He stared at the room over his shoulder and frowned.

“I _said_ I was sorry.” Sebastian’s voice was lower. Annoyed. Ciel glared at him, finally meeting his eyes. He was so close he could see the faint prick of sweat on his brow from this morning’s practice. The rest of the team was showering. Ciel knew that, could hear them when he changed in the women’s locker room a few moments ago.

“I don’t care. Leave me alone.” His voice trembled when he barked the order at him. His fingers itched for his phone, a distraction from the way the other’s face fell and something nasty overcame his features. He skated too close to Ciel, ice carving as he got near enough to feel how tense the other was.

“You’re kinda pissing me off,” Sebastian growled. He looked terrifying. Ciel couldn’t look away, breath caught in his throat at the way his eyebrows met, his nose scrunched up. His jawline was a hard, perfect line of devastation and the sweat and old bruises only added to how spooky he looked. Ciel’s heart jumped. Yeah. _Spooky_. 

“Is that why you stare at me everyday?” It was out before he could regret it, Sebastian tasting the weight of the words with a roll of his tongue over his teeth.

“Yeah,” he grit. Ciel slipped away but the other followed, built for speed and momentum spurred by the weight of his superior body. Ciel had delicacy and agility, and narrowly slid out from his pursuit.

“You’re real mouthy,” Sebastian grit. He stopped chasing him, the rink empty enough to hear each other despite the distance between them. “All bark. Like a little dog.”

“You’re the dog.” 

Sebastian laughed, deep in his chest.

“Then what does that make you?” He finally stopped skating and caught his breath, leaning back on the barricades with a lazy slope of his muscled shoulders. An inch of skin peaked out between his shirt and pants and Ciel remembered the photo Alois had shown him. Hard, thick abs. “Just an angry little _pussy_.” 

Ciel stopped skating so hard his skate carved up ice and sent it flying across the rink.

“ _What?_ ” He hissed, balling his small fists. Sebastian cocked his head and smiled. No. _Smirked_.

“I’m just trying to be nice to you. I said I was sorry,” he said in a teasing, rough voice. His hands came up in innocence. His smile contradicted them. Ciel’s hackles raised.

“Your friend can tell me himself.”

And at that Sebastian made a face so violent that Ciel braced himself, sensing the six-foot-something, tattooed hockey player was going to come barrelling across the ice and punch him so hard his nose bent like Bard’s. His eyes flashed. Shoulders squared. Every muscle in his upper body visibly tensed as he pushed himself off the barricade and - left. Ciel watched, stunned, as the angry man disappeared the way he’d came and went back to his pack.

The tension left Ciel’s spine. He moved again, pushed his headphones into his ears and started to carve out little circles on the ice. He stretched the stress from each of his limbs one by one, arm arched gracefully above his head. He picked up speed and jumped, lazy and second-nature to himself. The adrenaline curled up his legs and sunk into his gut, spurring him to skate quicker, and spin longer, and extend his body into a pretty line from the bottom of his cream skates to the tips of his gloved fingers.

And then in the corner of his good eye he saw him again, a mass dressed in black, storming back towards the rink with something gripped in his bandaged hand. A tuft of thick hair. A mohawk.

Ciel’s heart stuttered to a stop as he watched Sebastian Michaelis drag Cheslock by the top of his stupid hair towards the rink, moving with a speed and power that no one in ice skates should possess off ice.

The punk was wearing sneakers when they made contact with the ice, his legs slipping out from his body as Sebastian tugged him forward, arm coiled and bicep thick, tattoo stretched across the mass. Cheslock yelped, the sound echoing out across the empty space. He struggled but it tugged his hair, made Sebastian’s lip curl and chest tense and he pulled _harder_ , coming closer so he could dump the disgraced player at Ciel’s stationary skates.

“Apologise.”

Ciel stared in shock. Cheslock’s mohawk was pulled out of shape, an ugly chunk of hair on the top of his shaved head. He looked up at Ciel with his eyes narrowed in disgusted and squared his jaw. There was a fresh, dark bruise on his cheek the size of a fist.

“I’m not apologising to this little faggot.”

Ciel’s heart sunk down into his belly. He knew Sebastian had flicked his eyes up at him, to gauge how badly the word had stung. Ciel dug his nails into his palm and glanced up at Michaelis, whose lips were pressed into a thin, displeased line. He grabbed Cheslock’s bicep and twisted his arm behind his back, tugged his wrist into an unnatural angle that forced a scream from the kneeling player’s mouth.

“I said apologise,” Sebastian growled. Cheslock was breathing heavy, bent over on the ice before Ciel’s feet. The young man was faintly aware of how satisfying it felt.

“Sorry,” came a whispered, meaningless reply. Sebastian twisted his arm again and the scream that echoed up into the domed ceiling made Ciel’s skin prickle and his heart leapt.

"Like you mean it."

“S-stop it.” Ciel mumbled. Sebastian took his eyes off his prey, locked them onto Ciel and there was something feral in his expression, nose crinkled slightly in rage. He licked the corner of his mouth and tilted his head, strand of inky hair falling out from behind his pierced ear.

“No. Not until he says he’s sorry.”

Cheslock gulped audibly, wriggling on his knees as the ice bled through his jeans and into his skin. Ciel almost felt sorry for him.

 _Almost_.

“Apologise, or you’re off the team.” Sebastian said it with such finality that Ciel blinked in surprise, staring at the knot on the top of the man’s bowed head. _Would he really do that?_ His heart pounded with nervous, excited energy. He was unsurprised when Cheslock lifted his head a little, mohawk skewed, and whispered a sincere, tight-jawed apologise to the petite figure skater. Ciel’s shoulders fell.

“Now say sorry for calling him a faggot,”

“You don’t have to-“ Ciel was cut off with a look, Sebastian’s eyes narrowed and red and mean. Filthy. He twisted Cheslock’s arm once more to force a nasty cry out of his indignant lips.

“ _Do it._ ”

When Cheslock raised his head his mouth was wet with spit, jaw tight and eyes murderous. He looked Ciel right in the eye and curled his lip, panting from the painful position he was locked in.

“I’m sorry for calling you a faggot.” He let the word drip off his teeth, let it catch in a way that made it hurt more than the first time.

Sebastian dropped him so hard he hit the ice, palms scrambling to stay off the sticky, steaming surface. His sneakers squeaked over the frosted floor, his legs gave out under him as he scrambled from out between them and past Sebastian, who literally bared his teeth at the shorter man. He _growled_ , eyes narrowed with aggression. Ciel’s cheeks went hot. Cheslock scrambled to safety and it was just the two of them again, Sebastian making no move to leave.

He waited, like a servant. Ciel ignored how the blatant display of aggression made him feel, turned a blind eye to the coil of _need_ in his lower belly at the way Sebastian was panting lightly too, hands screwed into fists at his side. Ciel’s words contradicted his heart.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. 

“Don’t ever talk to me again.” Ciel turned his cheek and skated away, eyes downcast on the ice as he willed his heart to stop quivering. His chest was full of bees, excited and terrified all at once. He knew Sebastian was watching him go, could feel the way his eyes bled into him and snared on every inch of his skin, and tights, and the back of his neck. The boy glanced once over his shoulder to confirm it, and the hockey’s players face did nothing to quell the quiver in his skeleton.

He could have swore Sebastian’s expression was one of regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMASH THAT KUDOS BUTTON PLEASE! SMASH IT GOOD! And then come bug me on Tumblr ;)


	3. Shout At The Devil

Sebastian could feel Bard’s smirk from across the room.

The blonde leaned forward on his thick, muscled forearms and clicked his teeth in time with the clink of his beer bottle. He traced a slow line through the line of condensation on the florescent-kissed bench top and shook his head slowly. Like a parent chastising a child. Sebastian saw it all from his peripheral - brown eyes trained forward on his phone screen, scrolling but unseeing.

“Cheslock’s pretty pissed about what happened.”

The blonde finally spoke up, voice sticky with liquor. Sebastian’s finger twitched against the sweating neck of his own bottle, black-painted thumb flicking up through his Instagram feed. Bard’s baby brother lifted his head from across the room, curled up into the worn-down leather armchair against the window. Sebastian himself was stretched along the entire length of the couch, all six-foot-four of him, unlaced boots propped up against the opposite armrest.

“I don’t care. He had it coming.”

Sebastian clacked his tongue piercing against the back of his teeth when he spoke, a habit he picked up when excited. _Or pissed off_. The blonde hockey player drummed his fingers over the counter and took a swig from his beer but Sebastian didn’t lift his face from the bright abyss of his phone screen. He reached the bottom of his feed and refreshed, just to scroll through the same news again.

“Awful lot of effort for some ass.”

Sebastian finally looked up, lip curling. “Don’t call him that.” The blonde lifted his palms, pleaded innocence, but a wicked grin quirked on the edges of his stubbled maw. “Besides, you like him too.”

Bard laughed so loud the other two boys flinched. “Yeah, I think he’s talented. And cute. But I don’t beat up members of my _own fucking team_ just to impress him.”

Sebastian’s cheeks burnt. “He wasn’t impressed.”

Finn finally perked up, sitting upright in the leather chair with a creak. His phone lay forgotten, his bright eyes flicked between his older brother and Sebastian, eyebrows drawn close together. 

“What did you do?” The younger blonde chimed in. His brother chuckled lowly under his breath, circled the kitchen counter to saunter up to the couch Sebastian was simmering away on, folding his arms back down against the charcoal fabric cushions. A fat drop of water rolled off the side of his beer bottle and fell on the front of Sebastian’s shirt, earning him a dark look. He was grinning ear to ear.

“Yeah Bastian,” he sung. “What happened, _huh_?” Bard took a long, deliberate swig, flicking his eyes up to his brother as Finn leaned forward on his knees.

“You spoke to him?”

Sebastian grunted. Bard snorted into the back of his hand. He nodded, sofa rattling as he struggled not to laugh. Sebastian stared at the now-black face of his phone, mouth pressed into a displeased line.

“Oh _yeah_ Finny, he spoke to him alright. Tell me my favourite part again,” Bard drawled, grabbing Sebastian’s tense bicep and shaking the tattooed muscle beneath. Sebastian shut his eyes. Grit his teeth. 

“What did you call him? Figure skating champion Ciel Phantomhive, what was it that you called him? I can’t seem to recall.”

Bard’s eyes narrowed in mirth. Finn’s widened with interest. Sebastian licked over his teeth, thumbed over the end of his bottle as he dropped his phone flat on his stomach with a satisfying smack. He sighed.

“I called him a pussy.”

Finn sat up so hard the leather squeaked. Bard snorted again. Sebastian coiled his hands into fists and breathed out, tongue tucked into the corner of his cheek. In. Out. _Slow_. Just like his coach taught him.

“You called him a pussy?” Finn whispered, incredulous. The word dripped like poison off the smallest player’s mouth. Sebastian went hot all over, shaking his head slowly into the cushion below him. Another drop of Bard’s beer hit his solar plexus, black _plip_ on his charcoal-coloured t-shirt.

“Yeah.” Sebastian grit his teeth. He took sudden interest in the ends of his scuffed boots. “An.... angry _little_ pussy.” And as he trailed off he didn’t need to look up to know Finn’s mouth was wide open. The dissatisfied hiss was enough.

“What?!” Finn’s head hit the back of his chair with a blonde puff, hands slapping down on the crackled armrests.

"I thought you liked him! Why would you say that?" The petite blonde sighed like he was personally mortified and not riding off the wave of secondhand embarrassment Sebastian had created.

“I can’t believe you…”

And before Sebastian could open his mouth to defend his honour, the house’s fourth and final resident took the opportunity to open the front door, a whirl of cold air following him inside, kicking up the tendrils of his white and braided hair.

“Can’t believe what?” Agni asked, kicking the door shut behind him. His arms were loaded with groceries, ornate green scarf wrapped twice around his throat to protect him from the bitter climate outside. He sat the brown paper bags at the head of the couch and looked down at the accused, Sebastian’s arms folded firmly over his chest. He felt as if he were at his own funeral, Finn standing too, to hit him with a tilt-of-the-head, hand-on-one-hip fatal combo.

“Sebastian called Ciel Phantomhive a  _pussy_.”

The word fell again like dripping acid, seethed distaste at the nasty word, the final nail in Sebastian’s coffin. Agni made a low, hurt sound, then his palm cracked hard across the top of his best friend’s head, slap echoing all the way to the tiled kitchen walls. Sebastian grunted, sat bolt upright and bared his teeth at the only player on the team taller than him. Agni glared right back. Bard snickered and settled down at the end of the sofa, thigh pressed to the younger man's boot.

“I can’t believe you said that,” Agni groaned, hoisting the groceries back up his shoulder to dump them in the kitchen. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Sebastian.”

Sebastian slithered back down onto the couch. “I _know_ ,” he mumbled, mouthing gingerly at his beer, simmering over the edge as his tongue pressed against the glass.

“That’s even worse than what Cheslock said,” Bard said, shaking his head. He clicked his teeth again, condescended the player beside him with a raise of one eyebrow. Sebastian bristled, teeth bare.

“No, it isn’t,” Sebastian growled.

Agni stuffed a stalk of celery into the fridge and pushed it shut, bottles inside shaking. His hair gleamed in the light of the kitchen, skin dark and tattooed over the pretty fall of the green and gold scarf he unwound from his throat.

“You’d better apologise,” Agni said, eyes narrowed. "What would your Nonno think of that?" He chastised the other but his eyes were soft. Sebastian's shoulders slumped and he thought of his grandad, shuffling deeper into the cushions.

"He'd tell me I was an idiot," he groaned, tongue thick in his mouth. He glanced up at Agni and dared him to say the same, but his face held nothing but sympathy. He knew he was right. Agni was _always_ right.

"Well," Agni sighed, coming over to lean his hip against the edge of the couch, looking down at the brooding man below. "At least you spoke to him, huh?"

The tallest player dropped his hand down to card into the fringe of Sebastian's hair, combing it back with his fingertips in the way that made the noirette shiver. He closed his eyes, leaning back so his forehead touched Agni's leg, cherishing the warmth of it on his skin. Bard laughed, and Sebastian kicked him. Hard. Forcing him off the end of the couch with the heel of his boot. Beer spilt all over the couch fabric, and Finn sat up with a start. Agni reached down, grabbed his ear and _pulled_.

"Motherfucker," the blonde muttered, crooked nose creased in annoyance. Sebastian grit his jaw in satisfaction. Agni's fingers drew up the side of his face, pressing his thumb softly to his temple. When Sebastian looked up, the man was staring down at him, eyes narrowed in mirth. 

"Right," Sebastian murmured, picking up his phone again. Agni played with his hair as he refreshed his feed, flicking through the photos, seeing nothing on the screen but the slow-motion action replay of how disgusted Ciel had been with him that morning.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian could remember the first time he saw Ciel Phantomhive skate, and the exact thought that popped into his head.

 _Tight little fucking ass_.

He hadn't realised how strange it was to be having those thoughts for a boy. All he could think about is how he wanted to tear a hole in those legging and stuff Phantomhive's ass so full of his cock that he'd _sob_. It was a primal, disgusting thought that Sebastian usually reserved for licentious woman in dull-gloss magazines but now he was having it for America's perfect, pristine, precious pretty boy. The juxtaposition hit him so hard it hurt.

He watched Ciel’s competitions on television. He saw him on Instagram. His serious, unnerving expression seemed to kiss every magazine cover Sebastian passed by. His upturned nose looked down at him from the poster tacked to the bathroom wall, stuck there as a joke by Bard. None of them took it down.

But, Sebastian hadn't been prepared for seeing Ciel in flesh and blood.

When the handsome boy graced their rink one bitter, Friday morning Sebastian’s heart crawled from his throat and he grabbed Agni’s arm, stopped them both in their tracks. The head of blue-grey hair passed right by the six-foot-something hockey players like they weren’t visible. Like a black cat. Like an omen.

“Is that -?”

“Yeah.”

 _Ciel Phantomhive_. And all the thoughts of fucking him dissipated out of the hockey player’s head as he noticed a crucial detail the television, cameras and posters had all gloss over.

Ciel was tiny.

The smallest fucking thing he’d ever seen. The sight of his waist, thin enough to wrap both hands around, diminished the thought of railing him right out of his brain. It wouldn’t be physically possible. He’d break him. It didn’t stop him from staring though. And fantasising. Running his tongue over the back of his teeth and letting the piercing clack the bone.

And his fantasising turned into watched. Lingering. Arms folded on the glass barricade that sealed Ciel Phantomhive in his pristine snow globe of practice skate far, far away from him. Disturbed only by his best friend’s throat, clearing it, jerking his chin up to the hockey centre.

“I’m going to watch for a bit,” Sebastian said one day. Agni lingered, unsure. There was a strange look on his face, frowning slightly as he looked out at the skater, and then back to his best friend.

“Only for a second,” Sebastian pushed, making a promise. But he didn’t keep it. 

He watched for the entire hour instead. Watched until the lockers went silent and it was only the sound of the scrape of ice, the smooth cuts of Ciel’s skates over the surface as he spun, narrow wrists extended above his head like a swan’s neck.

He watched until the small celebrity flicked that one, endless eye up to him and narrowed it. Watched. And if the tight set grit of Ciel’s jaw had anything to say about it, he wasn’t happy to have Sebastian as an audience.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

That annoyed expression became cocaine to Sebastian.

It wasn’t the prettiest face the boy could manage. The twenty-five-year-old had spent enough time flicking through his social media to know Ciel could be very charming. Just not towards him. Still, as it was the only face Ciel ever gave him, he learnt to obsess over it. Each glare had his heart throbbing. His eyes narrowing. His dick half hard in his jeans.

Something wet and cold pressed into his arm and Sebastian flinched, staring down at the offending object that disturbed him from his current, unhealthy obsession. Finn stared right back at him, shaking a plastic tumbler in his face. The contents rattled and Sebastian flicked his eyes down to the cherry-coloured liquid. Tiny gelatinous balls rolled around in the base of the cup and Sebastian curled his lip up.

“What the fuck is that?”

“It's tapioca tea, dumb ass.” The blonde pressed it insistently to Sebastian's chest and he took it, blinking at the vibrant liquid. Little printed strawberries danced around the packaging. Bard's little brother narrowed his eyes and shot a pointed, bossy look out across the ice and at Ciel Phantomhive, who was still skating lazy loops around the rink.

“You want me to walk right up to Ciel fucking Phantomhive and give him tea with little _fruits_ on it?”

Finn gave him a hard look. The small blonde was dainty but not to be tested. He crossed his arms and nodded.

“He likes it, says so on his Instagram.”

“And what?” Sebastian shook the tea and watched the fat little blobs tumble over each other. “I give him this gross drink and he forgives me?”

“It's better than just staring at him, idiot!” Finn bopped up onto the balls of his sneakers to smack the back of the taller's head. He didn't feel it but he grit his teeth just the same. “He can see us talking, go give him the fucking tea.”

“What should I say?” Sebastian's mouth was dry. He was suddenly aware of the yellowed bruise on his temple and his unwashed hair. Finn shrugged, smoothing back a strand of sunshine-hued hair.

“Tell him it's apology tea. I don't know. Grunt at him. Knock him over the head and drag him back to your cave. You'll figure it out.”

Sebastian swallowed past the lump in his throat and rattled the gooey tea in his hand, staring down at the pierced plastic top. The miasma of sweet black tea made his nose twitch. The chunky mess at the bottom made his stomach lurch. He cast a look out at the ice and Ciel glanced up to catch his eye.

 _Come here_ , Sebastian urged, lifting his chin quickly to signal to the boy.

Ciel stopped in the middle of the ice, fingers tense by his side. The boy regarded him like a stray dog - like one who’d approached him on the street and he couldn’t figure out if Sebastian was friendly or not. Sebastian shook the stupid tea, dangled it over the edge of the barrier towards the nervous skater, who flicked his eye down to the tea and then across to his skinny, blonde friend. The blonde shrugged. Ciel looked back at the tea. And then he skated right up to him, face as serious as it looked in the magazines.

He was real pretty. The television usually glossed over his features, washed out the end of his little nose and thick eyelashes. The colour of his eye. How short he was. When he came up to the barrier, a hesitant gap between them, he only rose up to the top of Sebastian's bicep. Sebastian’s breath died in his mouth as the boy jutted his hip out a little, arms folding over the small span of his chest.

“What do _you_ want?” Ciel asked. The end of his nose twitched in annoyance. His eye darted down to the pink tea and then back up at Sebastian, lips pressed into a line the same colour as the drink.

“I got you this,” Sebastian forced out, frowning. He shook the cup again, boba rolling over the base and Ciel darted his attention down to it. There was a faint sheen of sweat on his throat.

“Tea?” He kept giving him that look. The feral dog look. He shifted his weight to one leg and tugged at the bottom of his millennial pink top. Sebastian shot a look over his shoulder at Finny, still waiting on the wall, eyes narrowed in a way that spoke volumes. 

 _Don't be a little bitch_ , Finn communicated with a tilt of his Cupid jaw.

“It's uh. Apology tea,” Sebastian muttered. The tumbler sweated in his hand. He couldn't tell if Ciel actually softened his shoulders or if it was the taller's wishful thinking. The shorter man chewed on his bottom lip and considered the tea between them, breath bated.

"Apology tea," Ciel repeated back, tone flat. He gave the older hockey player a look that raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

"Yeah," Sebastian mumbled. He shook the cup again, let it rattle as his mind suffocate with doubt.

“I can't drink it. It's not really in my diet.” 

Sebastian's nose twitched and he shot another look over his shoulder. He'd never trust Finn again. But before he could imagine the punishment he wanted to give the petite blonde, the cup was taken out of his hand and Ciel Phantomhive was suddenly a lot closer. He took the tea from his wet, trembling clutch and Sebastian could _smell_ him. Like overripe apples. Even his sweat was sweet.

Sebastian watched as Ciel took the end of the straw between his lips and sucked at the tea, limbs tense as he figured the slightest movement might shatter this fragile opportunity. He even restrained his lip from recoiling when a few of the fat, jelly orbs sucked up the straw and into the boy's mouth. He chewed at them, seemingly deep in thought, staring at Sebastian's chest but looking right through him.

“I like the bubbles more than the tea,” Ciel admitted after a moment. His mouth was wet with it. Sebastian swallowed, watching as he sucked up a few more of the gross blobs and then handed the cup back to the stunned hockey player.

“Oh.”

The boy flicked his eye up to him and his fingers brushed the back of Sebastian's bruised knuckles, accidentally. It triggered a little smile onto the corner of Sebastian's mouth. Ciel's lips pressed together.

“My name’s Sebastian,” he said, head tilted. He let his eyes flick down Ciel's shirt, to his skinny thighs in lilac leggings, hips soft and narrow. His ass, just out of view. He kept his thoughts to himself, glancing back up at the faint blush on the boy's lovely cheekbones. Ciel huffed.

“I _know_.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?” 

Ciel pressed his cute lips together again, raised an eyebrow like the man before him didn’t tower over him but was instead dirt beneath his skates.

"Are you serious?" He asked. Sebastian gave him a little smile, waiting patiently, and the boy huffed.

“Thanks for the tea,” Ciel said. Clipped. Conversation over. Sebastian leaned forward on his arms, tea cup still clutching in his hand and he internally smirked as the boy practically tripped over his skates to move away from him, gloved hands balled close to his chest.

“Ahuh. No problem, Ciel.” 

The boy spooked, like a deer. A little bird. His hair prickled and he backed up, looking at the tea and then back out to the safety of the ice. And when Sebastian came back to Finn (who wore a filthy, smug grin) the hockey centre stuck the berry straw between his lips and sucked up a mouthful of sticky, triumphant tea, remnants of Ciel’s lip chap on his mouth.

………………………………………………………………………….

 

Ciel glanced towards the yellow beacon on the sidelines.

The brightly-coloured tumbler screamed out from his peripheral, made him falter his step sequence and slow down into a distracted, aborted circle. He could practically smell the passionfruit tea from across the rink. Scent strong enough to crumble his will into a pathetic lump. A lump that manifested in his stomach as hunger. _Thirst_. His skates took him to the edge of the rink against his will. Moth to a flame.

One tea was an apology. Two was strange. A third was habit.

Sebastian gave him a small, amused smile, tapping his painted nail over the top of the drink like a little drum.

“Like passionfruit?” He said, handling the tea over to the skater, who rattled it once in his hand. The tapioca pearls rolled pleasantly across the bottom. Ciel nodded with the straw already between his teeth.

“I really shouldn’t be eating this,” he said around the plastic, chewing into the ball even as he protested. The texture smoothed across his tongue and he sucked up three more, internally sighing at how sweet it tasted it against his parched lips.

“What? Nervous you’ll put on weight?”

Ciel stopped sucking, fingers suckering in the plastic. He gave the taller hockey player a look, something heavier than starch pearls settling in his stomach. The end of the straw slipped from his lips and he shrugged, crossing one arm over his chest.

“It just isn’t healthy,” he sugarcoated, waving his fingers flippantly. A thick strand of Sebastian’s hair fell free from his messy bun as he ducked his head down and sealed his mouth over the end of the straw, sucking up the abandoned tea. His nose wrinkled as he sucked up a bubble, blew it back out the end of the straw and sat the cup on the barrier between them.

“Those things are fucking nasty,” he groaned. Ciel couldn’t help the smile that jumped to his lips. He diminished it as quickly as it appeared.

“You don’t like sweet things?”

Sebastian’s eyes flicked up as he said it, eyelashes a harsh cut of black. Ciel still couldn’t figure out the colour, couldn’t look long enough without the older man unnerving him. Everything about Sebastian was completely frightening. His size. His stare. His habit of bringing tea to him _three days in a row_ without any sort of reasonable explanation.

“I don’t mind the tea. It’s the _boba_ that I hate.” He cast an annoyed look at the forgotten tea as he said it, and Ciel caught glimpse of a new bruise on the sharp line of his jaw. The colour was blood red, imprinted deep into his skin like the tattoos that covered his forearms, biceps and knuckles. There were probably more beneath his clothes, Ciel considered, eye moving down Sebastian’s throat to the close fit of the shirt he wore.

“Then stop buying it,” Ciel blurted quickly, cheeks dark. The hockey player stiffened, eyes flashing with surprise at the clipped tone of the petite skater.

“What?”

Sebastian blinked, jaw tense. Ciel wet his lips.

“Stop buying me tea,” he said again, heart quick in his chest. Like the first time he noticed Sebastian watching him. Like the time Sebastian beat up a member of his _own team_ for him. Like the way it throbbed every time the stupidly tall, pathetically tattooed man showed up on the sidelines, shoulder-to-shoulder with the rest of his dogs.

“Why?”

Ciel smoothed his palms over the front of his ribbed, black high-neck t-shirt to rid them of condensation. For a moment the only sound between them was the thrum of the generator and the soda machine by the wall. Electric static. Ciel shook his head.

“Like I said. It isn’t healthy.”

………………………………………………………………………….

 

It was honeydew the next day.

Mango the day after that. Peach. Pineapple. Strawberry black tea again. Lavender, kiwi, plum. 

Each morning Ciel told himself he would ignore the tea. Each morning Ciel succumbed. Like Pavlov’s dog he drooled for the tea. Found himself looking forward to the tea before he even arrived at the rink, wrapped tight in his pea coat, chapstick on his mouth in an imitation of the flavour he’d be surprised with an hour later.

Lychee on the morning Ciel found himself coming over to Sebastian without prompting. Mocha on the day that he broke and _smiled_ at the hockey player, zipping over to the edge of the rink to sip out of the cup, uncaring if it was he who held the tumbler or Sebastian while he drank from it. 

Coconut on the day Ciel realised Sebastian drank half the tea before he got there, and left the tapioca pearls for Ciel to chew on, soaked in tropical-flavoured syrup.

Banana on the morning Alois barked his name so loudly the tapioca spluttered out of his mouth and onto the ice with a wet splat, dripping down his chin. Ciel bristled as the blonde skated over in his fern-green leggings, fingers going for the nape of the younger’s neck. He could smell Alois, sugar-sweet cologne against his side and his hair like baby powder and the straight iron. If his best friend put half the effort he took into looking pretty as he did with his routines, he might be as successful as Ciel too.

“ _What the fuck_ ,” Alois whispered privately against the shell of Ciel’s ear, brushing past him to stick his hand out towards Sebastian, who took it with a dull-eyed frown. The blonde shook it excitedly, enthralled smile slipping over his pixie-like features.

“Ciel, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Alois’s voice was sing-song, mouth tilted in the corner as he played possum, head tilted in faux-innocence. Ciel burst a pearl between his teeth and waved his hand between them.

“He isn’t my friend.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed and he revoked the banana-flavoured tea. Ciel’s heart sunk and he sighed, fingers tense against the glass barrier between the two skaters and the hockey player. Even Alois, a few inches taller than Ciel, had nothing on the lanky sportsman.

“This is… Sebastian Michaelis.”

Alois grinned like an asshole.

“I know,” he pepped up, parting his hoodie to reveal, on his shirt, the same emblem on all of Sebastian’s uniforms. Ciel’s shoulders fell at the sight of the black dog, eyes red. _Howlers_ , emblazoned across the width of his best friend’s chest in tacky, masculine block letters. “I’m a huge fan.”

Sebastian laughed, surprised. He pressed the banana tea into Ciel’s chest and checked Alois out, eyes flicking from his baby teeth to his thighs. Ciel felt something cold coil in his belly.

“Do you have one of those?” He said, lifting his head to look at Ciel. He tilted his chin at Alois’s black t-shirt, grinning slowly like it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen. Ciel folded his arms over his own, plain top.

“In your dreams,” the teenager drawled. Sebastian smiled. The melancholy in his gut turned white hot and feral at the sight of Sebastian’s pleased mouth, his happy eyes. Ciel felt sick. And warm.

“That reminds me,” Sebastian said, and clicked his teeth. Ducking down on the other side of the glass, the hockey player tugged free a familiar slip of lilac fabric from the duffle bag crumpled on the ground between his capped skates. Ciel blinked dumbly at the sight of his sweater, stolen by Cheslock, returned in a neat pile in his outstretched palms.

“Oh,” he mumbled. Sebastian folded his arms back on the glass and took a sip from the cup Ciel had been drinking from moments ago.

“I cleaned it,” the older man said quickly as Ciel bumped his nose to the soft, worn surface of the sweater. His shoulders softened. His eyelashes closed. He bundled the fabric closer to his face and breathed in, sigh caught privately behind the bundle of purple knit. He had no other word for the scent than _yummy_. It was good. Berry-like. What Sebastian might smell like if you removed the cologne and the sweat. _Really_ good.

“Thank you,” Ciel mumbled, dumb-founded. Rejoicing in the return of the sweater he’d already mourned and moved on from. When he raised his head from the embrace of his long-lost-pullover, Sebastian smiled, slow and perfect. He clicked something against his teeth, let his tongue wet his lip and Ciel watched a ball of silver smooth over the flat of his smiling lip.

 _He has a tongue piercing_.

And when Ciel came home that evening he still hadn’t let go of the sweater. His knees were shaking and he didn’t know why. He barely kicked off his shoes, dumped the lilac bundle on the bed before pressing his face into the sheets to follow suit, nose instinctively seeking out the sweet scent of the washed jumper once more. With his tummy pressed flat to his bed, Ciel breathed in deeply till his ribs kissed the mattress and revelled in the smell again. And again. And again until - _mm_. Until his hips ground shakily over the rucked linen of his unmade bed.

“Dumb,” Ciel whispered softly to himself, while dragging his hips in a slow, lazy circle on the bed. His nose went down into the lavender, eyelashes closing as he breathed in. Out. The smell was so… sexy. He bristled as his thighs spread apart and his hand pressed between his legs, against his tights and his ass.

“I’m so stupid,” he whispered again, as he rucked down his tights to sit around his thighs, as his fingers traced soft circles against the smooth insides of his shaking legs. Quivering. Like the puckered flesh he tugged at with his middle finger, nose smothered to the clean, Sebastian-scented sweatshirt. His mind was only remnants of fruit tea. A handsome smile. Bruised jaw. Deep laugh. 

 _Tongue piercing_.

A pathetic sob as he turned his face into the bedsheets, writhed against the lilac sweater with his expensive tights tugged down and his finger dipped inside himself, pushing in and out of his entrance. Like an animal. Like a teenage boy. Like the pathetic, pent up virgin Ciel Phantomhive really was.

His orgasm came so quick it surprised him. Pushing the air out of his lungs as he pushed his fingers deep inside himself, eyepatch skew as he keened onto the sheets and rucked his hair out of place, and his shirt above his heart. For a brief moment he forgot about skating. And the media. His schedule. His diet. For a few blissful, sublime seconds Ciel was nothing but heat, blinding pleasure in his gut with his wrist still trembling between his legs, pressing together with throbbing aftershocks.

Then he was awake again. And ashamed. And he groaned as he rolled onto his back, stared at the ceiling of his huge, empty apartment and sighed, tights still tangled around his legs, pebbling in the air-conditioned unit.

 _I need to have sex,_ Ciel lamented, startled only from his self misery when his phone vibrated. His prayers answered.

“ _Charles_ ,” Ciel lilted, hoping his voice didn’t give away the fact that he’d just finger fucked himself to the scent of his own sweater seconds ago.

“Ciel!” Charles chirped back, champagne glasses and chattering served as ambience in the background, clear and excited as the gold medallist’s voice when the younger skater answered. The platinum-haired man laughed through the line, not as deep as Sebastian’s but still enough to make Ciel’s mouth quirk up. 

“I was thinking about you.”

Ciel closed his eyes, heart hard in his chest. He turned his chin to breath out so the other skater wouldn’t notice how nervous he was, how that one sentence rattled him to his core. If only he knew how pathetic Ciel looked right now. The twenty-year-old wriggled his tights back up his hips, hair clinging to his bedding.

“What were you thinking about?” Ciel asked, when he could trust his voice to sound casual. Mature. Not wrecked by a simple phone call from his childhood hero. His mentor. His _crush_. Charles laughed again and Ciel sat up, electrified from the handsome sound.

“I was thinking about that article.”

 _A pause_. Ciel’s heart swelled.

“The one that said we were dating.”

“Oh?” Ciel mouthed, tongue thick between his teeth. He could almost feel Charles nod on the other end, hair shifting over the receiver as the voices of faceless socialites twittered happily in the background.

“Yeah,” Charles breathed back, and the nervous bolt of electric energy in Ciel’s stomach might have been hopeful thinking, or pure, unadulterated fear that the seemingly pathetic figure skater was about to get all he’d ever pined for.

“And I thought we should put those rumours to rest.” Ciel’s heart stopped.

“Friday night, at the Medallion.”

Ciel _died_. Upright. In his bed. Pants still loose around his hips. Fingers tight in the sheets. Phone pressed to his ear. Cause of death - Charles Grey asking him on a date. A fucking date. Ciel’s hair puffed out like an atom bomb as he fell back against the sheets, every limb of him the paragon of anxiety.

“Y-yeah,” Ciel forced out. Past his tongue. Past his dry, open mouth. Past his insecurities and his fear, and the faint shiver in his body still riding the orgasm Sebastian Michaelis’s tongue piercing had given him not three minutes earlier.

“I’d love to.”

And Charles laughed, like he knew Ciel would say that. Laughed like the nameless people on the other end. Laughed in the same light, flickering way the butterflies in Ciel’s belly did.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smash that little kudos button. Smash it like your life goals. Smash it like a hot chick. Smash it like a watermelon.


	4. How Soon Is Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catch my Rocky Horror reference.

Sweat dripped down Sebastian's neck and settled in his t-shirt.

Blood stung the crest of his cheekbone, coagulated by the fist that'd crushed the hockey player's helmet into his head. Sebastian rolled his tongue over his teeth, groaned at the taste of iron and pressed his phone up to his ear. The glass screen buzzed, the click of a receiver as a deep, familiar voice spoke.

“Hello?”

“Nonno, it’s me. We won.”

Sebastian heard his grandfather laugh, smiling as he sat alone in the change rooms. Everyone else had gone, leaving behind only the smell of men, and sport, and deodorant.

“Does that mean you'll cut that ridiculous hair?” Nonno mused.

His English was perfect but his Italian accent clung thickly to his throat. His annoyance made the hockey player smile, private in his glee as he picked blood out of his hairline.

“No papa, it's my lucky charm. If I cut it we'll lose.”

Nonno grunted through the phone, his leather armchair creaking through the phone line. Sebastian rested his tired body back onto the bench. His dark shirt clung to his skin, muscles still jumping in memory of the game. The fight. The victory. He pressed a bundled bag of ice to his throbbing cheek.

“You haven't cut it since that _strega_ left you, vita mia.”

It was Sebastian's turn to groan, the sound nearly identical to his grandfather's. The two men were practically twins, not a difference between them but 50 years. The younger rested his eyelashes against his cheek and rolled his head from shoulder to shoulder.

“That was over a year ago Nonno.” He swallowed. Picked at the knee of his sweatpants. “It's not because of that. Agni grows his hair too, I told you. It's lucky.”

Nonno huffed. “You boys are too superstitious, no?”

He paused for a moment to inhale and Sebastian could almost see the smoke tendrils around his grandfather's tattooed fingers.

“Will you come for lunch on Sunday?”

“Always, Nonno," Sebastian hummed, lifting his eyes as footsteps padded down the tiled walls of the locker room. They were too light to belong to anyone on his team.

“Are you having a party tonight?” 

He could hear the distaste in his Nonno's voice as his tongue lilted on the word  _party_. He prattled off something about cheap American liquor but Sebastian wasn't listening. Ciel Phantomhive had just walked into the room, hesitating by the door with his duffel bag looped over his shoulder. They blinked at each other, water dripping from the shower room and his grandad still talking about alcohol on the other end.

“I have to go,” he said into the receiver very suddenly, heart hard in his chest. His papa hummed around his cigarette.

“ _Ah_. Who is it?” 

Sebastian swallowed, eyes flicking from Ciel's fingers wrapped tight around his bag, to his narrow hips in panelled tights, to his face, mouth pressed into a thin line as he waited, looking at Sebastian the same way he always had. Like a dog who might bite. It made the hockey player chew the inside of his cheek.

“Qualcuno che è bello,” he murmured, wiping his bloody cheek with the side of his hand. The salt stung. Nonno huffed dryly. 

“Amore a prima vista?”

Sebastian wet his mouth. “Maybe, papà.” The old man laughed.

“Remember, _persistenza_.”

“I’ll remember. Ti voglio bene, nonno.”

And when Nonno said he loved him too, Sebastian hung up and it was just the silence, and the nervous way Ciel played with the keychain on his bag.

“You speak Italian,” Ciel murmured.

His shoe squeaked as he leaned his weight on one hip, eye moving from Sebastian's sweaty shirt to his bleeding face.

“I am Italian, so.” Sebastian smirked slowly.

The sight of it made Ciel rile and the little thing finally walked into the locker room, nose twitching at the smell of testosterone. He looked like the rain outside, all shades of grey and little, even footsteps. His lithe muscles moved under his tights and he seemed to look for something in the empty room.

“They're not here,” Sebastian said.

Ciel ignored him but finally dropped his bag down onto the bench across from the older man.

“Didn't you just have a game, or something.”

Ciel's skates came off his shoulder next, touching the ground with a weight that echoed off the tiles.

“They're getting ready for tonight,” Sebastian shrugged, not ready to reveal he'd stayed back to talk to his  _grandfather_ , of all people. Ciel gave him a questioning look.

“We always throw a party when we win,” he explained. A damp lock of hair fell out of place from behind his ear, and Ciel eyed off the wound on his cheek again. “You should come over tonight.”

Ciel laughed under his breath. He toed off his sneakers and tugged his skates into his lap, laces coming free between nimble fingers. Sebastian glared, little smile playing with the corner of Ciel's mouth.

“Is that below you, princess? Partying with hockey players?”

Sebastian said the nickname unfondly, pressing the ice pack back into his cheek. Ciel shook his head and the hockey player swore he could smell his perfume coming off his lilac, grey-ish hair.

“No,” he said, flicking his eye up to give Sebastian a teasing stare. Sebastian's stomach filled with bees. “I have a date tonight.”

He tightened his boots around thin ankles, white skates so much smaller than the battered, all-black pair that sat beside Sebastian's boots.

“With who?” Sebastian grit.

Ciel sent him an unimpressed stare, looping his laces and tucking them into the sides of his skate. The barely-there smile widened marginally into a smirk.

“Like I'd tell you,” he hummed.

His teeth showed as he stood, rolling his skate side to side to adjust to the boot, arms stretching up over his head. His sweater tugged up and Sebastian caught a glimpse of his naval.

“Do I know him?”

Sebastian stood up too, ice pack making a puddle of condensation on the bench. Even with the inch or two in height that the skates gave him, Ciel had nothing on the man that came closer and boxed him in against the tiled wall. He splayed his fingers on the porcelain above the teenager's head, itching to touch his smooth hair. He didn't dare follow through with the idea.

“Is it another skater?” He asked again, despite already having a feeling about who it was.

He hadn't stalked Ciel's social media for _months_ just to miss the tabloid photos of him and the famous platinum-haired figure skater.

Ciel drew his bottom lip between his teeth and chewed at it, an action that had the other skater weak in the knees. He took a deep breath and stared out over the taller's shoulder, exhaling.

“I train six hours a day, every day. Of course it's another skater. No one else understands what it's like.”

Sebastian hummed. He let his piercing clack purposefully over his teeth and sighed, rubbing the back of his head with the hand that wasn't pressed over Ciel's head. 

“I'm not an Olympian,” he reasoned, looking Ciel up and down as the boy raised an eyebrow. “But I could treat you really nice, if you gave me a chance.” His heart threatened to burst out of his chest.

“I know what you want from me,” Ciel whispered. He reached out and plucked the front of Sebastian's shirt, tugging at it once and letting it go. “And I'm not interested.”

Sebastian tensed his jaw. _Persistence_ , his grandfather would say. 

“Why not?”

“You’re not my type,” Ciel said quietly.

His voice was as loud as the drip of shower water in the next room over. His one, pretty eye glanced up at Sebastian’s arm, pressed to the tiled wall above his head. Sebastian knew he’d lied the second his glance lingered on the tattoo wrapped around his bicep.

“What don’t you like about me?”

Sebastian edged closer. Stole the air from Ciel’s personal space and felt the hairs raise up on the back of his damp neck. His arm stayed in place. Ciel remained transfixed.

“I don’t like men with too many muscles,” he said, finally dropping his gaze from Sebastian’s tattoos down to his eyes, both struggling to hide the seemingly victorious smirk on their mouths. Sebastian clicked his tongue once inside his mouth, slowly shaking his head.

“You're a liar.”

Not an inch of him was touching Ciel but he could feel the way his pulse pricked, and his shoulders tightened. _Stubborn_ , Sebastian said to himself. 

 _Persistence_ , his grandfather repeated back.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel could feel air-conditioning on his neck.

All the way to the base of his back, Ciel's shirt was tight against his slender chest but completely backless, held together with thin, black strands that hung over his pronounced shoulder blades and the dimples of his spine. The hair of his forearms raised as he turned back and forth in the mirror, letting his bedroom room light travel and fall over the plane of exposed skin.

“You look good,” Alois breathed.

Ciel's cheeks went hot with the compliment. He turned his head over his shoulder to look at his best friend, who regarded his outfit with reverence. 

“Like,  _really_  good Ciel. Too good for him.”

Ciel swallowed thickly and turned back to his reflection, hair tucked back behind one ear. He wore high-waisted pants that came up under his navel, and no other decoration than the weight of his two family rings against his thumb and middle fingers.

“Are you sure about it?” Ciel whispered, ignoring the comment.

He brushed back his hair again, turned in the mirror so he could see it. The milky, narrow expanse. His arms prickled with excitement. His stomach stirred with dread.

Alois nodded seriously, watching Ciel turn. He shook his head and sighed, tapping his nails against the glossy case of his phone.

“I'm serious Ciel, you look _so_ pretty.”

Ciel pressed his palm flat to his stomach and felt the butterflies beneath the thin surface. His cheeks were flush with the wine he'd thrown back to calm his nerves. He hadn't eaten a thing all day but his reflection in this moment was entirely worth it. The bed rustled as Alois got up, grabbing Ciel's arms from behind to rub calming circles into the spot above his elbows. In the reflection Ciel saw the small frown between his blonde eyebrows.

“What is it?”

He turned and Alois searched his face. His light, blue eyes flicked from Ciel’s own, to his mouth. He smoothed his palms down the back of his elbows and squeezed.

“I just think…” A pause. “I mean, Sebastian asked you on a date too.”

“It wasn't a date. He said -”

 “ _Come over tonight_. I know,” Alois rolled his eye.

He'd listened to Ciel recount the story over and over while he blow-dried his hair.

“You said he only wanted to fuck me, and you're right.”

Ciel ignored how hard his chest felt as he said it. Alois sighed for the umpteenth time and he deflated, fingers slipping from his best friend’s skin as he let go of him and lingered only in the reflection of his eyes.

“Maybe.” A strand of blonde hair fell across Alois’s brow but he didn’t push it back. His full, sweet mouth was pulled into the quaintest pout. “But what do you think Charles wants from you?”

Ciel stared back over the space of his shoulder, eye to eye with his twin image. His heart was hard in his chest, peach-pit in his throat and his reflection stared back, emotionless. Ciel took a deep breath and let the full weight of his best-friend's words settle down upon his shoulders.

 _I don't know_ , he muttered internally.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

For a moment in time Ciel didn't believe in love.

When his parents died. When his brother died... He just stopped.

Looking back at it now he couldn't remember if he'd been void of love after their funeral, or if he'd just ignored everyone's attempts at it. All he can remember is that for a very, very long time he went without it.

And then came Charles.

Charles made him insanely aware of his desperation to be loved. He made him feel like he was thawing, a forest after a long, formidable winter. His entire being buzzed, and bloomed, and fidgeted with sprouts and insects, and desire for sunlight. Human touch. Affection. Sex.

And it was so, so easy for him to forget there was a time in his life where he was without love when Charles Grey kissed the nape of his neck, and pressed a flute of champagne into his fingertips.

The date was sublime. Ciel hardly touched his salmon, but pushed it around his plate as Charles spoke, hair the colour of the liquor they drank, Hollywood smile and laughter that made the teenager feel electric. And now he was in his apartment, staring out the floor-to-ceiling window at the neon city, that pretty laugh against the back of his ear, and one talented hand against his hip bone. He sunk the champagne as quickly as possible to drown all the butterflies inside.

“Relax, Ciel.” 

Ciel exhaled, staring at his own dim reflection in the glass, and the hand on his hip. As he inhaled he suckered his stomach in, Charles's fingertips brushing the place where his shirt and jeans came together. That mouth came to his throat, pressed another liquor-wet kiss to the flesh and the teenager shut his eyes, every inch of him going still. Charles was kissing his neck. _His neck_. He pressed back and met his chest, his loosened tie along the line of his naked back.

“You're so tense,” the blonde whispered.

His lips brushed the back of Ciel's ear and it made the teenager warm across his chest, eyes still closed against his cheek. Charles's hand shifted. Another joined his hip. Slender, pale fingers brushed over his hips and then teased the hem of his top. Ciel sucked his waist in further and shivered, tipsy enough to allow the caress to the area he hated most.

And like with everything, Charles noticed, middle finger pressing below the fabric of his jeans to skirt against his bellybutton. Light rain hit the window pane with a gust of wind as Charles smiled into his throat, rubbing slowly at his navel.

“It's normal at your age,” he whispered.

Even his breath smelt sweet, and Ciel pressed further into his chest at the warm air against his neck.

“What?” Ciel mumbled.

His tongue felt clumsy in his mouth, drunker than he thought. That finger dipped into his navel and tugged up. A thumb splayed up and under his shirt, touching his ribs. 

“To gain weight,” Charles said with another little kiss. “When I turned eighteen I put on like 10 pounds, threw my routine right off.”

Ciel opened his eyes and stared at his black reflection, room swimming. He opened his mouth but closed it again, afraid of sounding stupid. He was now acutely aware of the touch to his stomach and it started to make him sick. He turned around and felt the fingers leave his waist. Like he could breathe again. Charles gave him a little frown and smoothed back some of his hair.

And then they were kissing.

It wasn't his first kiss. He'd kissed plenty of men. Even kissed Alois, on occasion. Drunk and excited, flirting and stupid – tongues in each other’s mouths as they fumbled, teeth clicked together. Ciel had kissed men in dark bars. Had kissed men he didn't know the name of, and men the entire world knew. Like Charles. His hero. Ciel's heart suddenly staggered back to life at the realisation, humming against the champagne kiss of the other's plush mouth.

They broke apart with a lip-chap smack, Ciel feeling like he'd died and ascended to heaven. Charles smiled like it wasn't a big deal for him. Ciel's fingers tightened in his jacket. _It probably wasn't_. 

And then they kissed again. And again. Until Ciel was tilting his head to let Charles lick into his mouth and take back all the champagne he'd fed him, making him drunker and drunker each time their tongues slid together. It was almost too perfect. Almost. The fingers on his stomach came back.

They started on his back. Fingertips pressed into the dip of his spine, slid under the thin straps of his top as hands pressed flat and slid under the silky material. His soft hands brushed Ciel's ribs and the teenager inhaled between kisses, sucking his stomach flat as he pressed closer to Charles's suit, hoping he could crush away the hand between their bodies. But it didn't go away, so Ciel pulled back his mouth and squeezed his fingers into Charles's arm.

“W-wait. Wait,” he breathed, wetting his mouth.

He felt Charles laugh against his chest and he wondered if he looked as wasted as he felt. The fingers on his belly rubbed slowly but moved no further.

“What's wrong?” Charles asked against his mouth. “Do you want another drink?” 

Ciel shook his head, eyes closed to stop the room swimming. “It's just -”

He inhaled when fingers moved against his will and touched the place just under the connection of his ribcage. He gasped and broke free, stumbling back as he almost hit the glass panel behind his back.

“I just, I can't.”

He felt like a child. His cheeks burnt with mortification as he covered his stomach with his palms, like protecting a baby bird. Charles stared. Ciel felt sick with dread, skin still tingling in the places he had touched. Mouth still wet with his kiss. The faint look of confusion on the blonde’s face melted into a tiny frown.

“You don't want me?” Charles asked, shaking his head slowly.

 _Nothing could be further form the truth_ , Ciel thought, heart racing. How could he explain how badly he wanted it? How he longed to be embraced, and touched. How could he explain he wanted sex, he just didn't want to remove his clothes for it. That he hated himself.

“That's not-“ 

Charles made a noise halfway between disappointment and a laugh. He stepped in a little closer, Ciel's back making contact with the glass. It stung.

“Are you leading me on?” Charles cocked his head.

Ciel couldn't shake his head quick enough, starting to feel nauseous enough that the frigid glass against his skin was grounding. He could deal with cold. It was the burning, sticky heat of embarrassment and shame that he had trouble handling.

“I would never lead you on,” Ciel promised, shaking his head.

He felt stupid as he said it. He wished he’d taken the drink the blonde had offered moments ago. Maybe if he was drunker, _maybe_ he could get over the raw, lingering feeling that he – _his body_ \- wasn't good enough for this.

Charles made that low noise again, staring down at Ciel's silky, black top instead of at him. With one finger he tugged at the spaghetti strap, eyes blank.

“You know, with a body like yours I figured you'd just sleep your way to the top,” Charles muttered in such a way that Ciel couldn't figure out if it was a compliment or an insult.

His breath bated as the finger tugged, exposing his stomach again. This time he didn't fight it. He just pressed his lips tighter together and stared at the pin on the other man's tie.

“But you're a virgin, right?” Charles hummed, deep and appraising. He let go of his top and stepped back, flicking his eyelashes up and down the length of Ciel's entire body. “You just dress like a slut.”

If he'd expected an answer, Ciel didn't know how to respond. His heart crumpled like wet sand. Something broke and Ciel recoiled even further as he finally begun to cry. A fat tear rolled down the edge of his cheek and the sight of it made the blonde's shoulders soften.

“ _Ciel_.”

Ciel ducked past him and grabbed his phone from the coffee table, the weight of it reassuring in his palm. Tears blurred his vision as he took his silk bomber jacket too, shrugging it over his shoulders and cherishing the weight of it over all his naked skin.

“Ciel, I didn't mean it like that.”

Charles turned away from the window but didn't approach. The city sparkled behind him as Ciel hid his cheek into the shoulder of his jacket.

“It's f-fine.”

He hated how his voice sounded. His tears broke free and hit the floorboards as the drops outside splattered against the window pane. 

“I should go.”

His phone buzzed once in his palm to remind him it was dying. He couldn't look at the other man but could see his shoes.

“Please don't go,” he begged.

His voice sounded honest, and raw, and Ciel might have stayed if his shoes had not stayed put – not moving even an inch to comfort or retrieve him.

“I'm sorry,” Ciel mumbled. He squeezed his phone and turned, not allowing the figure skater to see his miserable face. His insecurities. “I'm sorry. I'm going to go.”

And then he was gone, shoes padding softly over the carpet of the hallway and finger pressing repeatedly into the elevator call button, over and over as his shoulders shook and he started to lose it.

 _Stupid. Stupid. You just fucked things up – majorly. You're a fucking dumbass, Phantomhive_.

The elevator dinged. The door shut. He didn't dare look up at his reflection as the lift took him to reception. The doorman said something nice but Ciel couldn't speak, throat sticky with tears. He kept walking until he was outside, and the smell of wet concrete met his nose, and the rain hit the tears on his cheeks. His skin shivered easily under the thin fabric of his bomber jacket but he stepped out into it despite it all.

All he knew was that he was drunk. And hurt. And, with two final buzzes, that his phone had just died.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel could feel eyes on him the whole way home.

He refused to take a taxi. He couldn't bare the thought of it. Eyes in the rear vision mirror, soaking up all his tears and personal tragedies. _Hey_ , he could almost imagine the driver saying, _aren't you that kid whose family died in a car crash?_

Ciel choked on another sob of self pity before detouring through the park, downpour broken slightly by the trees above. He wished he could call Alois. Have him pick him up in his shitty car and take him through drive-thru, and rub his hair as he decayed into a miserable state of drunken despair. But he couldn't handle that either – the dread of his best-friend telling him “I was right.”

So he walked all the way home. It wasn't far. Through the suburbs and the pretty two-story townhouses, painted fern green and terracotta, framed with white lattice and abundant flowers, and fairy lights. Where it was deserted and all the families had gone to sleep, and there was no one around to see his miserable face. Except some guy, standing out on his porch smoking a cigarette.

Some guy that looked like a dumb, blonde hockey player. Some guy whose face lit up and he dropped his cigarette, swearing over the sound of muffled music. Some guy with a broken nose and wide shoulders, and – 

 _Fuck_. 

……………………………………………………………………………

 

“Holy shit,” Bard laughed lowly, whistling through his teeth.

The blonde knew drunk. He was drunk every weekend. He was drunk right now. And he recognised drunk when it rocked up on his front lawn, wearing skinny jeans and a bomber jacket. There he was. His best friend's sex fantasy. America's sweetheart, Ciel Phantomhive.

“Hey kitten,” he called out across the lawn.

He pursed his lips and make a squeaky kissing sound at the boy, like calling a stray cat. The boy glared, rain landing right on his face as they stared at each other.

“What are you doing here?” Ciel barked, looking over his shoulder like he was trying to figure out where he was.

Bard stepped out into the snow and jabbed his thumb over his shoulder to the house.

“I live here, sweetheart. What are you doing here?”

Ciel looked kinda pretty, like a girl if Bard squinted hard enough. He took a swig of his beer as he approached, staring down at the kid illuminated by street light. His hair was combed somewhat neatly to one side, one side of his face concealed by the eyepatch all of America would kill to see beneath. Those soft, baby pink cheeks hit the light as Ciel raised his head, and a funny feeling settling in Bard's chest as he realised they were wet with tears.

“I d-don't know. I was just walking home,” the skater said, arms hugged over his little chest. His face fell. “And then my phone died,” he added in a small, pitiful voice.

Bard took another sip of his beer and hummed, then looked back at the house. 

“It's pretty cold out here. You should come inside,” he said.

Ciel blinked. He looked out at his alternative – the wet, puddle-plotted street that led deeper into the city, and he opened and shut his mouth. Bard extended his hand and the celebrity stared at it like he'd slapped him.

“C'mon,” the blonde urged. “You can charge your phone and get warm. I'll let you have some beer, even though you're like fifteen.”

“I'm twenty,” Ciel croaked, still eyeing off his hand.

“Whatever, c'mon. We have girl drinks too.”

And he went to close his hand when suddenly there was a little mitt in his palm, cold as ice, and Ciel took his hand and looked across the lawn towards the house.

“I don't want a girl's drink,” he mumbled drunkenly, but he followed anyway, up the stairs of his home and under the shelter of the porch.

The music inside thudded under their feet and vibrated the fixtures.

“Fuck, you're freezing," the blonde muttered, unable to resist the urge to massage his thumb over the back of the shivering kitten's knuckles. "Why are you out here in the cold?”

Dumbly, he reached out to try wipe the sluggish tears on his cheek but the boy moved back from it, mouth in a thin and unimpressed line.

“W-why would I tell you?” He whispered.

He stared at the front door like he longed to slip inside and avoid an interrogation. Bard rubbed at the back of his neck, exhaling.

“Because I'm drunk,” he shrugged. “I'm not gonna remember, and _fuck_ , watching you cry is painful.”

It was true. He looked like a car crash. Horrible but stunning enough not to take his eyes off. It hurt his entire being to see someone so flawless cry. Plus, Sebastian would kill him if he knew he hadn't attempted to cheer him up.

Ciel shifted his weight from one leg to the other and stared at the dark, cold night, finally giving in with a trembling lower lip.

“It was a boy.”

“Oh, kitten. A boy broke your heart?”

A weight settled in Bard's stomach as Ciel nodded, more tears rolling down his cheeks.

“And now my phone is dead so I can't call Alois, and I was trying to walk home but it started raining! And now I'm here, and you're watching me cry and, and,” he faltered, pressing the heel of his hand into his eye. Bard wondered if the covered eye cried too. 

Bard swallowed. “He didn't hurt you, did he?”

Ciel shook his head against his hand and Bard swore under his breath, staring at the crown of the teenager's head as he cried. 

“Do you – can I, fuck. Do you want to come inside, come on,” he urged.

He beckoned with his fingers again and Ciel took them with no protest, hand wet with tears. He tugged him a little closer and under his wing, and took him inside – into the warmth, and the noise.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Bard didn't know half the people there, and he figured Ciel knew no one.

But everyone recognised him. Even with his face pressed into his hand, the petite skater was unmistakable with his eyepatch and signature grey hair. The crowd seemed to make way, undulating like waves to the pulse of whatever song was playing, some whooping excitedly over the noise and others just staring. Some, like Bard's drunk little brother, grabbed Ciel by both arms and stopped him in his tracks.

“Oh. My. _Fucking_. God!”

Bard grunted and tugged Ciel into the kitchen, Finn trailing happily behind them.

“What is Ciel Phantomhive doing here?” He grabbed Ciel's arm again, shaking his shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

“Bad date,” Bard shrugged, popping Ciel against the counter of the kitchen cabinet and fishing some Technicoloured vodka mix out of the ice tub.

Ciel took it gratefully, eye bright at Finn's affections and looking kind of amused. It beat seeing him sad, and he felt good as Ciel upended the cherry-flavoured vodka and drowned the remains of his bad date from the evening.

“ _I don't want a girl's drink_ ,” Bard mumbled under his breath, shooting the teenager a look that made him smile for the first time – mouth all dark with the dye in the drink.

It was so alarming that he didn't notice Agni bump into his shoulder, staring in surprise at the newcomer sitting on their kitchen bench.

“ _Wow_ , Ciel. You're here.”

The taller skater was sleeveless, all tan-coloured tattoos and hair that glared in the fluorescent lights ahead. Bard rolled his eyes, huffing as the taller player pushed between them and reached out for Ciel's tear-tracked face.

"Bad date?" Agni asked, head tilting.

Ciel nodded, looking up at him like a kicked puppy.

 _Jesus_ , Bard thought, looking over the crowd for any sign of his roommate. Finn was too busy getting a photo with the _great Ciel Phantomhive_ to be of any use.

“Bastian is gonna freak out,” Bard mumbled, watching his little brother smoosh his cheek into Ciel's and grin widely for a selfie, arm hugged happily around the skater’s shoulders.

Agni hummed in agreement, reaching out to put a comforting hand on Ciel's knee. Bard raised his eyebrow, finishing the rest of his beer.

“Okay kitty, now that you're here, settle an argument for us.”

He rolled up the sleeves of his white t-shirt and Agni rolled his eyes in his peripheral but flexed his arms all the same.

“Who's biceps are bigger?”

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian had heard the story about how his grandpa met his grandma a thousand times.

She was a nurse. He was a.... _well_ , it varied each time Nonno told the story (and with how much he’d had to drink). Essentially he worked for powerful, bad men and that sometimes landed him in trouble. Enough trouble to get beat up, enough to wind up in hospital, covered in blood and in a world of pain.

And that was how Salvatore met Benny.

“At first she wanted nothing to do with me,” his Nonno would say.

Nonna would nod, her lips a dark line of wine-coloured lipstick. His grandad would take a second to drink, looking thoughtfully at nothing as he replayed the memory back and forth in his salt-and-pepper head. Then he would catch Sebastian's eye over the edge of his glass and wink, black eyes catching in the kitchen light.

“But then I wore her down.”

Nonna would roll her eyes and laugh. She had a deep, lovely laugh. Her hand would smooth over the top of Nonno's tattooed knuckles as he spoke, hand flipping nostalgically between the couple and their grandson.

“Persistenza,” the old man promised. Nonna clicked her teeth.

“Persistence? More like _stubbornness_.”

“Ah now Bastian, this is where Benny and I disagree.”

His grandmother made a face but watched on contentedly, chin nursed in her free palm. 

“If you love a woman – stop at nothing to have her.”

He clinked his empty glass to the table and pointed his finger down to the wood, tapping insistently.

“Persistenza,” he said again, a satisfied smirk as Benny slapped his shoulder.

And he had heard that story so many times that it became ingrained in his memory as the highest form of romance. The bar had been set for him at a very early age, and Nonno had set it _high_. His grandfather promised him that one day he would meet someone that terrified him – and that moment would happen for him too. The moment Nonno had lived covered in blood, staring into the lovely auburn eyes of his future wife.

 _Amore a prima vista_. Love at first sight.

Nonno said that when he saw her, when he first lay eyes on Benedetta, that the emergency room moved to slow motion, and time seemed to stop for everyone but the two of them. All sound, all action – ceased to be as their eyes met, and Nonno realised (and he only used these words when he was very, very drunk) that he was completely fucked.

He promised one day Sebastian would have that moment too. He just had no idea that it would happen while wearing his mum's Def Leppard t-shirt, three sizes too small.

The room stopped moving. The electronic music faded out into a dull drone. Just as his grandfather had predicted – time stopped when Sebastian stepped into the kitchen and saw Ciel there, propped up on the counter with damp hair and sugar-stained lips.

He was beautiful. He was strange. He was squeezing Agni’s biceps.

“Bastian!” Bard yelled across the kitchen, a beer in each hand.

Sebastian didn't take his eyes off Ciel as he stepped closer, accepting the beer but not taking his eyes off the boy and his best friend. Agni was wearing _that shirt_ , the one that made his biceps seem impossibly firmer. Ciel had a hand on each of them, hugging the intricate tattoos that trailed up each of his brown arms.

"I found this little kitten outside," Bard drawled proudly, hand on his hip.

Sebastian pushed right past him, coming up to the pair. He stopped just short of Agni, glancing up at his best friend and giving him a little frown. Agni stepped back a little, Ciel's hands falling from his skin.

"I think he's lost," Sebastian said slowly, putting his beer down on the counter by Ciel's leg.

He stepped in close to him. Cut him off from the rest of the room. From Agni. He put his hands either side of his narrow hips, flat against the counter and cocked his head.

"Thought you had a date tonight."

Ciel was so little that he was still shorter than Sebastian, even on the bench. He glanced up, and Sebastian's breath caught as he realised there were dry tears on the boy's flawless cheeks.

"It was a bad date," the Delacroix brothers chimed in.

Ciel sent them a withering look, and something hot and nasty coiled in Sebastian's belly.

“What happened?”

He couldn't hide the anger in his voice even if he tried. Ciel lifted his chin.

“It's fine. Calm down,” he demanded, voice sticky with liquor. “You look pissed off.”

“Yeah,” Sebastian laughed, unhappily. He clicked his piercing against his teeth and tilted his head to one side to hear it crack. “So what, did he fucking hurt you?”

“Stop.”

“Tell me what he did.”

“No, fuck. Stop it Sebastian.” He widened his eyes at the sound of his name, momentarily startled. “Don't be such an asshole, he didn't do anything wrong. It was _my_ fault, I just... It wasn't...” He trailed off.

And Sebastian's heart crumbled because he realised he was having that moment. He wasn't covered in blood, and Ciel wasn't a nurse, but Sebastian was fucking petrified all the same because right now the figure skater was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen and he wanted to obliterate anyone who dared ruin his night. More than anything he wanted Ciel to smile, and so he forced himself to breathe (like his coach taught him) and he calmed down, slowly but surely. After a moment, when his shoulders had unknotted and that small, concerned look left Ciel's eye, he shot a glare sideways at Agni, who regarded him with a playful smirk.

“So, what were you doing anyway,” he murmured, finally speaking. The music was loud but Ciel was close enough to hear him, taking a drink from the cherry vodka in his hand. “Having a bicep competition or something?”

Ciel laughed. The sound had the twenty-five-year-old perk up.

“Yeah,” Ciel nodded, mouth quirking up. “Bard's are the biggest.”

“I'm  - What?”

Sebastian almost swallowed his tongue, another laugh coming from between Ciel's teeth. Agni crossed his arms, making an annoyed sound between his teeth. It made Ciel smile wider, leaning back so the light could catch his face. He looked good like that. Everything about him was so damned cute.

“That's not really fair. You didn't feel mine.” 

Ciel swallowed, flicking his eyes down to Sebastian's arms and shaking his head slowly.

“You boys are dumb,” he whispered.

This close together it felt like only the two of them, and the party and the boys in the kitchen faded away. Sebastian moved in a little closer, his forearms barely brushing the side of Ciel's legs.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Trying to show off for me, but we all know I could crush your skull with just my thighs.”

Sebastian laughed, thumb rubbing along the seam of Ciel's tight jeans. “Why don't you try?” 

When the boy said nothing he dared to put his hands up on his knees and slowly push them apart. He went to drop down between them when Ciel's poker face broke, shoving his shoulder and tugging him back up by his too-tight t-shirt.

“You're a freak,” Ciel said around a giggle, hands splayed on the counter as Sebastian kept his on his legs.

He smoothed his palm up and squeezed experimentally, feeling the muscle flex under his hand. Ciel was thin but he wasn't weak. The strength in his thigh alone was impressive and Sebastian squeezed again, kneading the muscle with a satisfied smile.

“No contest, princess. You've got the strongest legs. All of America knows that,” he said lowly, still boldly touching Ciel's legs, thumb dipping between where they were spread to make room for his hips. 

“Now lemme see _your_ biceps,” Sebastian coaxed, other hand already on the zipper of his bomber jacket, tugging gently.

Ciel gave him a look, a little crease between his eyebrow and his eye patch, chewing his liquor-flavoured lip, but didn't stop him. The zip came down, the silk slipped over bare shoulders, and Sebastian swore low under his breath. The bare skin didn't stop at Ciel's shoulders. It went all the way back, revealing his shoulder blades and the side of his ribs, and his beautiful arms and throat. Agni choked. Bard found something interesting to stare at on the ground.

“You _uh_ ,” Sebastian's tongue was thick in his mouth. “ _Dio mio_. You look really pretty... Like a film star, or something.”

“You're drunk,” Ciel blushed.

“Yeah, but I'm not blind," Sebastian swallowed. He flicked his eyes up to Ciel's patch and added, “No offence.”

Ciel gave him a rude look and his fingers shyly touched his collarbone, glancing out to the party and not at Sebastian. The hockey player took it as an excuse to come closer, so close that their hips almost met and he could smell the perfume on his neck. Masculine but inherently gorgeous.

“My date didn't think so,” he said quickly. He glanced up at Sebastian and his face softened.

“What?”

Ciel's other hand moved up to join it's twin on his chest, accidentally grazing Sebastian's as it passed. One glimpse of his small, polished nails touching the back of his tattooed hand had his heart skip. He was hooked. Ciel breathed out, nervous.

“My date thought,” he trailed off, looking conflicted. “He thought I was dressed like a slut.”

In his peripheral Sebastian saw Agni stand up straighter. Sebastian's entire body went tense with white-hot, liquid rage, and he placed one of his hands on the wall behind Ciel and boxed him in, chest hard.

“What's his name?”

Ciel pressed his lips into a line, eyeing off Sebastian's tense arm. It made the hockey player grunt and he bit the inside of his cheek.

“Why? You gonna beat him up?” Ciel groaned, still staring at his arm but wrinkling his nose in cute dissatisfaction.

Sebastian nodded. The teenager shook his head slowly, like Sebastian was stupid and primitive, and the hockey player felt that he was. Especially when Ciel’s hand reached up and wrapped around his bicep, squeezing softly. His brain ceased to function as that hand touched his muscles, rubbed appreciatively with his little thumb and made a low, thoughtful sound. Sebastian flexed and Ciel’s eye widened, swallowing visibly.

“Was it Charles Grey?” Sebastian asked, eyes flicking down to Ciel’s slender neck, his collarbone.

He pushed his hand higher up Ciel’s leg and even at it’s thickest junction Sebastian figured he could wrap both hands neatly around his thigh. The thought made him feel even hotter.

“I don’t want you to beat up anyone for me,” Ciel said firmly. He traced his fingers up higher, up to the place where muscle met t-shirt, and he tugged at the rolled fabric sleeves. “Just calm down.”

And Sebastian held his tongue, arm tense and body thrumming with desire to pummel whatever asshole ruined Ciel’s night into the ground. But he was unable to do anything. Not with Ciel’s hand rubbing his shoulder. Not with the smell of his skin so close, and the warmth of his thigh under his palm. Not when fate had dropped America’s sweetheart right into his kitchen, looking this _damn_ good.

“I can’t calm down,” he admitted quietly, dropping his gaze when Ciel stared right at him.

His hand left his arm, slid down the front of his shirt and over the worn slogan, toying with the fabric pulled obscenely tight over his pectorals. They were too close. Sebastian couldn’t believe it. His brain overloaded and restarted every five seconds.

Ciel went to touch his other hand but he bumped his fingers into his empty vodka bottle, which clinked noisy against Sebastian’s beer. The figure skater bumped them together again, smiling slowly.

“Got a baseball bat?” He asked. Sebastian nodded.

“Wanna go outside and smash things up?”

And Sebastian had never loved a single sentence more than the one that just came out of Ciel Phantomhive’s mouth.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

“I used to do this with my brother all the time.”

Ciel placed Sebastian’s empty beer bottle on the fence and stepped back to admire his glistening victim. The twenty-five-year-old handed over the bat, tape frayed and rough in the centre of his palm. Swinging it over his shoulder he tested the weight, shifting his hips side to side. In the night air he didn’t feel so drunk. He felt alive. Excited. He was wearing Sebastian's leather jacket, heavy on his shoulders and studded with silver, and band pins, and zippers that rustled as he shifted his weight from leg to leg so the line-up of boys behind him could watch his ass move in his jeans. It made him feel powerful. The jacket. The eyes on him. The baseball bat in his hands.

“Pretend it’s your boyfriend,” Sebastian said loudly, arms crossed.

Bard and Agni stood next to him, finishing off the last of their drinks. They were wearing heavy jackets too, but not Sebastian. He only wore his shirt, bare arms kissed with rain, and it did no favours for Ciel's drunk, licentious mind.

“He’s not my - ”

“Pretend it’s his dick,” Bard hollered bluntly, hands cupped over his mouth.

Agni shoved him, grinning. Sebastian smiled. Ciel stared back at the bottle and tilted his head, feeling revenge tug lowly in his gut. In the same place where Charles had touched him. He swung back the bat and the bottle _popped_ with a satisfying shatter, sending glass across the lawn and a whoop from the pack of hockey players in it’s wake.

“You’re pretty tense,” Sebastian said as he bumped past him, sitting another bottle up on the fence.

He came up behind Ciel and put his hands over the top of his, wrapping them tightly around the base. Someone whistled. Sebastian pressed his chest to Ciel’s back and shifted closer until their was no space left behind him, and Ciel could feel everything. Absolutely everything. All 200 pounds, and something hard through the leather, against his shoulder blade.

“You have a nipple piercing,” Ciel said flatly, ignoring the hot laugh against the shell of his ear.

He felt good in the cold night, skin warm and fragrant, and _oh_ so close.

“Ahuh,” the hockey player replied nonchalantly, shifting his hands up the bat. “Relax your hands. You wanna hold it more with your fingers and less with your palm.”

“Oh okay, Babe Ruth.” He earned another warm, handsome laugh against his throat and loosened his hands beneath Sebastian’s.

“There you go,” Sebastian praised. Ciel shivered. “Just like that. Pretend it’s _my_ dick.”

Ciel bristled, cheeks dark as he tried to pull his hands off the bat, flustered. Bard snorted into the back of his hand and Ciel had nowhere to go but further up against Sebastian’s chest.

“I know how to swing a baseball bat,” Ciel clicked his teeth, turning his head to glare at the hockey player behind him.

It was a mistake. Sebastian was right there, so close. His cologne. The smell of sweat. His eyes looking at him so intensely, so close their eyelashes practically kissed. Then his hands were gone and Ciel was on his own.

“Then do it,” Sebastian goaded. And Ciel swung. And he hated to admit that he did it much better the second time around.

Agni whistled, clapping slowly at the carnage and Ciel couldn’t help but laugh, turning around to see Sebastian smiling back, arms crossed and looking impressed. Then Bard was snatching the bat out of his hands, spinning it once in the air to show off, and settling his empty beer bottle down on the fence in the place where Ciel’s use to be. He made a big show of lining up the shot, Biggest Biceps on show as he rocked his hips back and forth, judging his swing.

“I call this one the Tonya Harding,” he said to Ciel, eyebrow raised.

And then he bought the bat down hard against the bottle, obliterating it between the fence and the weapon. Ciel laughed loud - shocked, hand clapped over his mouth as the blonde gave him a dazzling, proud smile. 

“That’s fucked up,” Ciel grinned, shaking his head.

The bat went to Sebastian and he weighed it thoughtfully in his hand, finishing the last of his drink so it could join the shattered bones of it’s brethren on the fence line. He fished into his pockets and took out a cigarette, put it between his lips to light it, until he saw the look on Ciel’s face.

“What?”

“You smoke?” Ciel said, nose twitching. The look on his face was enough to make Sebastian’s face slacken, and he took the cigarette out from between his lips and put it back into his pocket.

“No,” he lied.

Ciel swallowed past the happy lump in his throat, auburn eyes glancing up his throat and cheek like a starved man. It was the kind of attention money couldn’t buy.

And it was about then that Alois showed up. He'd been asleep when Ciel had called, voice sticky but worried, and promising to come pick him up right away. But, as he strolled across the lawn, wearing an oversized sweater and Ugg boots, and thin, little tights, he looked way too good for someone who had 'just woken up'. He shot the hockey players a smile, tucking all that blonde, buttery hair behind one ear to expose his throat, and let his eyes linger for far too long on the taller, dumber blonde standing behind Ciel. Bard dropped the baseball bat onto the ground, mouth half-open.

"Hey boys," he drawled sweetly, before turning his attention to his best friend.

He wrapped his arm around him, tugging him close against his body so he could rest his chin against the top of Ciel's head. The twenty-year-old was tipsy enough to not be embarrassed, and pressed firmly into the hug that smelt like baby powder and laundry detergent.

"Hey peanut," he said, kissing his head. He tugged at the lapel of Sebastian's jacket and gave him a filthy smile. "You look like a little punk. Gonna hold onto it?" 

Ciel turned pink, looking over his shoulder to catch Sebastian's eye. He was staring at him, hairs raised on his strong, tattooed arms, breath coming out of his mouth like a little ghost. Regretfully, the boy shrugged off the jacket and handed it over to the much, much taller man.

"Thank you," he said quietly, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. Sebastian's patient stare made him feel nauseous, in the good way. "I'm sorry that I was rude to you today," he added, swallowing around the lump in his throat. 

The taller man smiled, shaking his head like it was nothing. He had the good grace not to rub Ciel’s failed date in his face, or remind him that his night might have been so much better if he’d come with Sebastian instead. No, he just smiled, and it made Ciel feel syrupy and nice. Something he hadn’t felt in a really long time. The hockey player reached out and smoothed back some of his hair, fingers light like the boy was made of glass.

“Did you have fun tonight, princess?”

Ciel nodded. Sebastian smiled and let him go.

“Good. Get some sleep,” he said softly.

“And some water,” Agni butted in, stepping forward as Alois dragged the boy away from the men.

Ciel tried to roll his eye but he was blushing too hard. He nodded instead, glancing at the two men and giving them a soft, dumb wave before Alois pulled him away. He walked him back to the car, cheek pressed against his so firm he could _feel_ his nasty smirk.

“Bye guys,” Alois yelled back over his shoulder.

Ciel stared up at the sky above, all foggy with clouds, stars faint between the gaps. He cast one last look over his shoulder at the boys, standing out in the night, and saw Sebastian press his nose to the collar of his jacket. He caught his eyes, still staring, and the teenager realised he was smelling the perfume he'd left on the dark leather. His stomach turned.

“Bye Alois,” Bard shouted. “ _Bye peanut!_ ” 

Their laughter was the last thing Ciel heard as Alois put him in the car, buckling his belt although he insisted he was fine. He pressed his cheek to the cool glass of his friend’s horrible car and wondered if he would regret any of this tomorrow.

“You okay?” Alois asked, sticking his keys into the ignition and the whole vehicle rumbled under them. Ciel nodded, staring at his condensation on the glass.

“Can you take me to KFC?” He asked sweetly. Alois snorted

……………………………………………………………………………

 

“Alois, did you see him?”

The dark-haired skater breathed, clinging to his best friend’s shoulders as he tried to open the door to Ciel’s apartment  _and_  manoeuvre the drunk boy inside.

“Which one,” Alois huffed, practically dragging Ciel across the hardwood, polished floor.

“Alois,” Ciel whined, grabbing a fistful of Alois’s sweater so he could force the blonde to stop, nose to nose in the living room. Ciel blinked up at him, swallowing thickly before tugging at the wadded fabric again. “Sebastian. Did you  _see_  him? I mean,  _really_  see him?”

A little crease appeared between his eyebrows and Alois couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. He repositioned Ciel’s weight, of which there was not much of to reposition, and continued to tug the petite skater into his bedroom and drop him down onto his bed.

“I saw him peanut,” he said, a little breathless as he unlaced Ciel’s shoes and tugged them off his ankles. “He looked good. Really good. His biceps in tha-”

“His  _biceps_!” Ciel sighed loudly, plopping his head down against the French linen on his mattress.

With his feet free of shoes he tucked his knees up to his chest, curling his arms around his legs as he keened, biting his lip between his teeth.

“His f-fucking,” he hiccuped, “biceps. He just…  _oh God_ , so sexy.”

He let go of his knees, suddenly sitting up on his elbows as Alois got onto the mattress with him, crawling up his legs to unfasten his tight, tight jeans. One strap of his backless shirt slipped off his shoulder and he didn’t notice, or didn’t care. He blinked, staring at Alois’s hands, still chewing at his red mouth.

“He has a tongue piercing,” he whispered reverently, and Alois smiled, tugging the twenty-year-old’s jeans down his narrow hips. “And a nipple piercing too.”

“I know,” Alois grinned wider.

He tossed Ciel’s jeans off the side of his bed and slipped his hands under his top to slide that off too. Ciel was so drunk he didn’t mind, hair messy as the silk ruffled it. His bare stomach was such a rare sight, enough for Alois to pause momentarily and stare at how slender it was. As his best friend breathed in his strong abdominal muscles tensed, and his shallow belly-button suckered beside the blonde’s thumb.

“What happened tonight?” Alois asked, not realising how cold his voice sounded until the dumb, happy look on Ciel’s mouth melted away.

“What do you mean?” He muttered back. His eye was glassy and his cheeks dark, and he looked down like a chastised child.

“What happened with Charles? Thought you had a date with him, peanut. Not the entire hockey team.”

Ciel wet his mouth, nuzzling his head against the pillow. He laughed, fingers tracing his clavicle. “I wouldn’t mind dating the  _entire hockey team_ , y'know?” He slurred, rolling onto his side.

Alois fished a loose shirt off the bedroom floor and chucked it at him, the skater wriggling into the garment and doing no further favours for his hair. He laughed, mouth muffled by his arm.

“I’d let the entire team do  _aaaaaanything_  they want,” he giggled, drawling as he chewed at his lip again, and again, and his cheeks matched his mouth in colour.

“You’re being a brat tonight,” Alois smiled, crawling over Ciel to smooth his hair back into place. He untied his eyepatch, the skater’s hand going to the uncovered skin to rub at it, yawn on his lips.

“I just…  _Alois_. He looked so hot tonight,” he said again, starting to succumb to his sleepiness.

Alois finally laid down beside him, feeling just as tired. By now it was long past midnight.

“So why are you wasting your time with that Charles fucker, when you could be getting rawed by that stupidly attractive Italian?”

Ciel snickered. “Rawed?”

“Yeah peanut,” the blonde nodded, nestling closer so their knees could bump together and their noses flirted. “I bet he has a really big dick, huh.”

Ciel exhaled all at once, his breath sweet with cherry liquor. “I really want him to fuck me.”

The admission made his best friend’s eyes widen, wishing he could record the nasty confessions coming off the skater’s lips.

“You really need to get laid, don’t you?” The blonde asked. Ciel nodded feverently. Alois tucked his hair back and pressed a little kiss to his head. “You’re so wound up all the time.”

“ _Mm_ , yep,” he chirped. He closed his eyes, pressing against the blonde’s warmth. “Really need him to fuck me. Hold me down with those… a-arms, and,” he trailed off to hiccup again, not opening his eyes.

“And what?”

“And let him get his dick wet,” he sighed, finally opening his mismatched eyes to smirk. “Don’t care how. He can put it in my mouth, or my ass. Mm. Or both. I don’t care Alois, did you see him tonight? He could fuck me anyway he wanted and I’d  _let_  him.”

“Wow, Ciel.”

The twenty-year-old smiled, pressing his nose into the blonde’s neck so he could nod again, winding his arm around his waist so he could koala-cling to his chest, his hair smelling faintly of men’s cologne.

“I’m gonna tell him tomorrow,” Ciel decided, voice muffled. “Gonna skate right up to him and say  _hey_  - idiot. I want you to bend me over and, and, and ahh.” He went quiet, words slurred.

“Got a feeling you won’t remember this tomorrow,” Alois whispered, playing with the back of his best friend’s hair as his breath evened out, and he succumbed to slumber. His eyelashes tickled his collarbone, hand going limp where it lay across the blonde’s chest, and the older skater exhaled, staring up at the ceiling.

He just wanted Ciel to be happy. More than anything. And Charles Grey was not the man for him.

……………………………………………………………………………

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come follow me on Tumblr: bun-o-ween


	5. Friday I'm In Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I went CRAZY trying to finish this for you guys!! There was a whole scene at the end that I had to cut, just to get this up in time. I am literally going to be without my phone for the next 2 days, so I really hope y'all like this chaoter. I have lost so much sleep getting this up on time ahahaha. But y'all deserve it, for the incredible support I got with my 2 new fics, The Great Northern and Possession.
> 
> I updated quickly as a thank you, so if you wanna see another chapter soon, PLEASE leave some kudos and lemme know what you thought!
> 
> And come talk to me on Tumblr: bun-o-ween

The kitchen smelt like pomodoro sauce and burnt candles.

The house was still warm with people. Empty now, and littered with lipstick-kissed glasses and half-eaten gnocchi. Small gifts of food. Flowers spilling over the lips of vases. More food. So much that Nonno tried to pack it all into the fridge, between his bottles of homemade preserve and Italian wine. But it overflowed into the freezer, and when that was full, he packed the downstairs cooler too. The basement stairs creaked with his journeys up and down the varnished stairs, in the now empty house.

When they’d had guests, it was easy to forget Nonna had died.

Now her absence was overwhelming. Agni had stayed, and tried to help, but Nonno had ushered him off. The other guests left empty spaces that were quickly filled with sadness. Neither of the two men spoke. Nonno kept himself busy with the food, carefully wrapping what he could and binning all the scraps. He wasn’t usually one to waste, but now things had changed.

Sebastian picked apart bread to feed to one of his cats, offering the scrap to Deborah’s dainty, black nose. She ate it from his fingers, wound around his ankles like a wisp of smoke. Her tail brushed against his leg, suit too short on his ankles and wrists due to the growth spurt he’d had over the summer. The television was on, to serve as a sound other than silence in the Nonna-less home. The news was on, and as the sixteen-year-old broke off more bread for Deborah, he watched the image of a car crash flicker onto the screen.

An entire family had died.

Well, not entirely. There was a little boy. The sole survivor. Sebastian paused, fingers motionless as the cat bumped insistently against them for more food. The wrecked cars looked like soda cans, on fire and billowing smoke up to the helicopter that captured it all. And then they were showing a photo of the little boy, thrown over the shoulder of a firefighter as he reached out for the wreckage. His face was covered in blood. His minuscule hands, too. They left it on screen for a moment, before switching to the aerial view again, and Sebastian realised he was crying.

He brushed his knuckles over the tears like he didn’t understand why they were there. He wasn’t crying for the boy. Or perhaps, he was. He didn’t know. His heart ached knowing there was someone else out there, experiencing the gut-wrenching ache of losing the one they loved most. And he started at the TV for so long, tears dripping down his cheeks and towards Deborah’s paws, until the segment ended and Nonno was standing at the mouth of the living room, mouth pressed into a line.

“Vita mia,” he said. His voice was rough with mourning. Sebastian glanced up, tears reflected Technicolour with the television. As a teenager, there was no way of knowing how identical he would become to the man before him. He was too thin. Too tall. Too awkward, and yet to grow into the sturdy, wide-shouldered stance his grandfather held himself with. The old man’s skin was warm like lacquered wood, eyes darker than coal and hair to match. Tattoos covered his knuckles and his forearms, shirt sleeves folded to his elbows. He always dressed beautifully, especially today.

The day they buried Nonna.

His hug smelt like alcohol and cologne, and the faint trace of dust from a suit hardly worn. Like varnish, and butter, and worn-down, expensive leather. Sebastian pressed his face into his chest and cried harder, the silk of his grandfather’s tie brushing his cheek. He shook like a child in his arms, the older man rubbing his hair as he kissed the crown of his head.

“It will all be okay again,” he promised, voice raw like he needed to believe it just as much as the sixteen-year-old. “With time.”

Sebastian nodded under the safety of his arms, clenching his fingers into the back of his shirt as the advertisements ended, and they showed the car crash again. Broadcast the family’s tragedy for the entire nation to see. Sebastian turned his face to look away from it, Deborah stepping gingerly between the two men’s polished shoes.

“At least I still have you,” his grandfather mumbled against his hair. He must have been watching the television because he shook his head. Without letting go of his grandson, the old man stooped down to take the remote from the armrest of the leather lounge chair, and turned the news off. The house was quiet again. Just the two of them. Sebastian pressed his ear against his grandfather’s chest and let his heartbeat fill in the empty space she left behind.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Alois looked as obvious as the blaring, red spotlight that flashed over the crowded ice rink.

He was wearing a Howlers t-shirt, like the hundreds of other fans packed into the stadium. It was faded red with black lettering, and it's age showed in the thin fabric and the fact that it was several sizes too small. Ciel's eye darted down to where Alois's navel piercing shone in the bright lights.

“You look obsessed,” Ciel said over the music, which vibrated through the floor and beneath his sneakers. He stared with barely concealed jealousy at his best friend's tight, skinny tummy, and the blonde shot him back a dazzling smile.

“I _am_ ,” Alois breathed, rocking forward on his feet again. He was wearing a red and black scarf too, to compliment the artfully scuffed denim jacket over his shoulders. Even his eyes were smudged with black. He looked like a punk. Like a Howlers groupie. Like that Russian figure skater he coveted.

“I just want him to look at me,” he continued, staring up at the massive, four-faced screen that hung above the rink. The fluorescent light illuminated the back of the blonde's wide, blue eyes and Ciel couldn't help soften at the sight of his excited friend. The booming commentator’s voice rung out over the music as it recounted the Howlers’ last game, replaying video footage of the team.

“I don’t think you have to try too hard,” Ciel drawled, leaning close so he could be heard over the music and the commentator. “He’s just a big, dumb animal.”

Alois ignored him, mouth half-open as they showed a close up of Bard Delacroix's unshaved face on the big screen. He grinned, his crooked nose catching the light as the audience went wild for the replay. Alois cried out something indecipherable, rocking himself hard into the plastic barricade and patting his palms against the glass. When the flashback ended, he glanced sideways at Ciel with a knowing smile.

“You told me he was chivalrous,” Alois smirked. “And _strong_ , and kind of _sexy_ in the right light, and -”

“What I said drunk doesn't count,” Ciel hissed, cheeks colouring. He refused to look at his best friend and instead stared out at the polished ice. He felt the blonde lean closer, and his laugh tickled the side of his neck.

“And what about the things you said about _him?_ ”

Alois's lip bumped the side of Ciel's ear as he smiled, both their eyes flicking up to catch a familiar, handsome face on the big screen. Sebastian didn't smile, blood moving sluggishly down his cheek under the plastic of his helmet. A damp, stray strand of hair plastered to his brow. Ciel swallowed as he remembered how the man had looked after his last game. How he'd smelt like salt and blood, and something crossed between sports deodorant and the cologne Ciel's dad used to wear.

“You said some _really_ explicit shit, peanut.” Alois purred, nuzzling his hip into Ciel's side as he grinned, fluttering his lashes in the figure skater’s face. “Like I mean some fucked up, triple X rated details Ciel. I didn't know you felt that way about him. Or anyone. Thought you were gonna die with your cherry in tact -”

Ciel cleared his throat and sent his friend a look. The excitement in the rink was infectious. Ciel felt his skin prick as the crowd droned, a flurry of scarves and drinks, and shrill, aggressive shouting. The game hadn't even started yet but the energy was unparalleled to anything Ciel had ever seen before. That, and the fleeting glimpse of Michaelis on the big screen, had his heart feeling flighty and young.

“I don't feel _any_ way about him,” Ciel lied. His feelings were as blatant as the loud, brassy music that stirred the audience into a red-and-black frenzy.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian was _fast_.

Ciel had suppressed how hard his heart raced when jersey number 19 circled out onto the ice, but he couldn't ignore the tug beneath his naval when he saw how damned quick the man was. Quicker than most skaters Ciel versed competitively, and twice as graceful (in a large, imposing sense). His sheer size seemed to compel him around the rink, shoulders looking twice as broad in the heavy padding on his chest. Ciel remembered _exactly_ what he'd said to Alois while tipsy – and in that moment, as he watched Sebastian shove his slender bulk into an opposing player with face full of determination and black-plastic-teeth, he didn't take any of his drunk declarations back.

Alois was screaming. His little fists pressed into the glass with a dozen others, hair falling over his cheeks as he yelled at _someone_ on the ice. One second he was praising the players, rising his arms in the air so high his stomach was exposed again. The next second he was crying _death threats_ out towards them, pointing at specific players and promising cruel and exaggerated punishments.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” The blonde shrieked, shoulder bumping into Ciel so hard his diet soda spilt over the back of his fingers, but the figure skater wasn't paying attention. His eyes were locked on the black chunk of plastic he recognised as Sebastian's head. The man turned, and from halfway across the stadium, he recognised Alois and the brooding, silent boy beside him. His face caught in the bright lights and Ciel's heart stopped in his chest.

And then suddenly Sebastian was there. All red-and-black, padded gloves and teeth blocked out by a plastic mouth guard. He was smiling none-the-less, and the barricade rippled as he bumped up against it, pressing so close against the glass that Ciel could see the sweat beaded on his brow.

“You’re here,” he said loudly, slurred around the plastic, and Ciel almost laughed at how dumb it sounded but stopped at the genuine tone of the player's voice. He nodded, stunned, and shifted closer to the glass so he could get a good look at the man with a dozen cameras pointed to his back. In his peripheral Ciel could see Sebastian's back on the big screen, and his own name echoing out across the loudspeaker.

Sebastian opened his mouth to say something but he was suddenly gone. With a loud _smack_ he hit the barricade, sending Ciel backwards in fright. Diet soda dripped onto the already sticky floor and Ciel rushed forward to look. Alois jumped up on his tip-toes again, beating the glass with his ineffectual hand.

“This is what I came here for!” The little blonde screamed, leaning forward with the rest of the crowd to watch a member of the opposing team knock Sebastian flat onto the ice. There was a flurry of colour, the wooden clank of his stick hitting the rink, and a low, _pissed off_ growl under the cheer of the audience. He was only on his back for an instant, and Alois cried triumphant as he reared up and head-butted the opposing player, so hard that his plastic helmet cracked and the two went scrambling back in the opposite direction.

Ciel covered his mouth as his heart threatened to climb up his throat and onto the blood-splattered ice. More of it splattered against the glass as Sebastian drew back his elbow and punched the other guy in his face, ripping his glove off with his teeth so he could connect knuckle to the opposing player's cheek. Gone was the grace of the hockey player Ciel had cherished before. It had been replaced with the primitive rage of the man Sebastian was infamous for becoming.

The other player surged forward to grab Sebastian again but a shrill whistle broke them apart, and suddenly Agni was there too, using the back of number 19's jersey as a leash to drag him away from the other man. Through the glass, and the blaring commentator, and the thudding of Ciel's own pulse, it was impossible to hear anything of what was said, other than Sebastian and Agni yelling in the face of the bleeding attacker and the referee. The taller man threw his hands up in frustrating, spinning around with his teeth grit, all plastic and narrowed eyes. He caught sight of Ciel and the nasty expression disappeared - smile lighting up his face in a way that made the mouth guard look even sillier.

"You came," Agni slurred, eyes bright. Sebastian bumped into his side, cutting in front of his friend to press up to the glass, ignoring the screams of the crowd. He paid no mind to the sweet praises and nasty threats yelled at him, because he'd locked eyes with Ciel once more. His upper lip was bleeding, a cut just shy of his Cupid's bow, and his eyes softened and he smiled again. Like he hadn't just decked some guy in front of a dozen TV cameras.

“Are you okay?” Ciel had to scream over the crowd. His palms were pressed flat to the barrier and Sebastian shuffled closer, his helmet touching the glass and his breath coming out in little puffs of condensation on the glass. He nodded, pressing so intimately against the barricade that Ciel blushed. The hockey player stared him down, pressing his own hand over the glass where Ciel's was. Ciel wet his mouth and shook his head at the look the man was giving to him.

“ _Stupid_ ,” Ciel mouthed. Sebastian huffed in amusement, sending another foggy breath across the glass. His tongue darted out to lick away the blood on his upper lip, piercing glinting in the artificial light. Ciel's stomach turned. Sebastian smiled slowly. His eyes flickered back to the game before he leaned in, nose bumping the glass inelegantly before he kissed it, leaving nothing but a smear of blood as he threw himself back into the game.

Ciel stared with his mouth half-open, and an all-consuming heat in his abdomen and between his legs. Someone beside him cleared their throat, and with a whooshing roar of voices, music and sound, Ciel was back in the real world, Alois shooting him a mean grin.

“You look obsessed,” Alois teased, leaning in to laugh hard against the smaller boy's ear. Ciel was too stunned to protest. He blinked at the blood smear on the glass and shivered.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Showing up at the Howlers’ house was significantly more terrifying whilst sober.

Sebastian had grabbed him after the game. _Hard_. Enough to force the air out of his lungs as those bruised, tattooed knuckles wrapped around his forearm and tugged him flush against the fence that separated the players from the eager fans. They had won. The triumph was evident on the Howlers’ faces as they left the rink, helmets pinned under their arms. He smelt like sweat and blood, and his grin was infectious as he tugged Ciel close (to the dismay of a dozen female groupies) and muttered roughly in his ear.

“See you at the party, princess?”

His lip was busted but it looked hot. Ciel couldn't think much further than the crimson cut along his handsome mouth, and with Alois squeezing his hand and whining enthusiastic pleas of _yes_ in his ear, he could do little more than nod. And that is how he found himself back in the two-story townhouse, with Alois clinging to his arm, and a thousand strangers drunk and dancing all around him.

He tugged him into the kitchen, lollypop pushed to one side of his cheek to ebb away at his anxiety. Alois was wide-eyed, fingers brushing up against every hockey player he could reach, bright teeth and charming smiles all the way down the hall, earning a double-take from men and women. Ciel dragged him by the front of his denim jacket, chewing the edge of the plastic stick in his mouth. Alois had always been a head turner.

 _Speaking of which_.

He found him in the kitchen. Dressed all in black. Sweaty t-shirt, beer in hand, and hair pushed back off his brow. He had a graze on his forehead, red and inky with blood, and the knuckles of his free hand were dark with bruises. But he looked good. Stupidly good. With his boot pressed into the rung of a bar stool he could see a tattoo peeking through the rip in his jeans, and he wondered how much of him was covered in them. He smiled when he saw the pair of petite skaters, his lips quirking up in a way that made Ciel sick with want.

“You’re here,” he said for the second time that night. His eyes darted down to the candy sticking out of Ciel’s mouth, and then back up to his eye.

“I’m here,” Ciel said, stupid, letting the lolly clack his teeth.

“What did you think of the game?” Sebastian smiled, cocky, and Ciel was tempted to give him a rude answer. But it was entirely too difficult to forget the way he’d looked on ice. Powerful, and beautiful, and frightening. Ciel was envious, and he held his tongue, playing with the end of his lollipop stick.

“It was more violent than I thought it would be,” he said, taking the candy out of his mouth to cross his arms over his chest. It made the taller man grin, black nails tapping against the side of his beer.

“Y’know they put me in the penalty box because of you.” He said it low, and playful, and purposefully to rile him, and Ciel was faintly aware of how easy he played into the trap, nose twitching as he bared his teeth.

“How was that _my_ fault?” He grit. It made Sebastian smile harder, glancing down at the way his hands curled into fists, and he stepped in a little closer.

“The way you were staring at me,” Sebastian murmured. “Could feel your eyes following me all the way around the rink,” he swallowed, darting his gaze down to look at the plastic sticking out of Ciel’s lips. He wet his own. “Really threw me off my game,” he concluded, shaking his head slowly in disappointment.

“I wasn’t staring at you,” Ciel lied, tongue thick. He had been. A lot. And then suddenly the lollipop wasn’t in his mouth anymore, and it was being tugged past his teeth with a clack, sheen of saliva sitting on his lower lip as Sebastian Michaelis took the candy right from his mouth and stuck it into his own.

“Mm,” he said thoughtfully. “Tastes like lies.” And his piercing clacked on the watermelon-flavoured orb.

“That’s…” Ciel said stunned, frowning. “That was mine.” His cheeks burnt at the dumbness of his answer. The noirette nodded, slipping it free from his mouth with a wet smack.

“I need it,” he breathed. His lips were glossy from it. Ciel couldn’t look away from the cut on his mouth. It was distracting, and sexy, and stupid.

“I quit smoking, so.” He tapped the end of it against Ciel’s nose, sticky residue on his skin, then stuck it back between his teeth.

“Gotta go take a shower,” he announced, giving Ciel another slow once over. “Unless you wanna join me.” He smiled again at the way Ciel bristled, the candy a brighter shade of pink than his pierced tongue.

“In your dreams,” Ciel muttered. Another _brilliant_ response. And Sebastian grinned, brushing past him and leaving him in a stupor of sweat, and sports deodorant, and the trace of blood on his gorgeous, smirking mouth.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sixty minutes and two pineapple vodkas later, Alois asked Ciel to kiss him.

They'd kissed before. Their mouths were familiar territory to each other. They'd kissed at bars, and they'd kissed simply because they were drunk, and sometimes, like tonight, they kissed to get the attention of insanely attractive men.

His lips tasted like cherry lip chap and a dozen sweet clichés. His skin smelt like baby powder. His hair, the distant trace of cigarettes and Ciel almost pulled back at that, but then their tongues met, and he made a sound that wasn't entirely put on.

Bard was watching.

That's why Ciel was kissing Alois. Why his fingers slipped under the edges of the boy's too-tight shirt and hitched it up. Subtly. Just enough for that navel piercing to catch the light before the smaller skater tugged him closer, sliding his fingers into a thick crop of buttery, blonde hair. Alois smiled into the kiss, his tongue dipping between Ciel's teeth to curl against his own, lips wet with liquor and spit, and glossy in the kitchen lights like his glazed eyes.

Ciel pulled back with a smack. Caught his best friend's lower lip between his teeth and tugged the slightest. Brushed their hips together as they kissed again, the blonde's fingers playing with the loop on the back of Ciel's jeans as his other hand traced the swell of his ass. He pulled back, chest heaving against Ciel's.

“Can he see?” Alois whispered into his mouth. Ciel flicked his lashes up to the opposite side of the room, his hands still under the blonde's shirt, stroking the soft skin of his hips. He found Bard easily. Trapped like a deer in headlights. Staring at the side of Alois's head with his beer sitting loosely in one stunned hand. His lips were pressed together. His cheeks were dark. Ciel huffed, tilting his cheek to kiss the line of the marginally taller boy's throat.

“He looks like he's _dying_ ,” Ciel whispered, laughing. Alois sighed, running his tongue over his bottom lip as he struggled to catch his breath. His eyes were big and black as he stared at Ciel’s mouth.

“Was he rough with you?”

Ciel blinked slowly. “Huh?”

“Last week,” Alois breathed, bumping their noses together. “When he touched you. Was Bard rough?” They kissed again, wet and noisy. Ciel shook his head against the blonde’s mouth.

“No.” He paused to swallow. “He was gentle. Really gentle.”

Alois made a frustrated sound, closing his eyes as their heads bumped together. His fingers tightened around Ciel’s arms, his teeth worrying his lip as he exhaled, swearing lowly.

“ _Ugh_. That’s even hotter!”

And Ciel smiled, leaning in to ease another kiss onto the fanatic twenty-year-old’s lips, teeth clicking as he looked back up to stare at the idol of his affections. Bard was still staring, and it was when Alois sighed into his mouth that Ciel realised the older blonde wasn’t alone. Ciel sucked in a breath, eye widening as Alois kissed off his mouth with a smack and pressed his lips into his throat. He groaned, whole-heartedly and surprised, and nervous. Because Sebastian was staring too, and he looked pissed off.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian locked his jaw and slammed the fridge door shut,

His hair was still damp from his shower. His lip stung where he’d cleaned the grit out of the wound. The music downstairs was louder than the _beep_ of the microwave telling him that his pasta was ready, The ceramic was hot in his palm, bottle of beer chilled in the other. But the thing he felt most was the undeniably ugly lick of jealousy deep in his stomach. It ate him alive as he padded up the staircase, escaping the noise and the people like an irritated house cat.

Urgent, little footsteps followed.

“Wait, Sebastian.”

And he stopped in his tracks, pasta steaming away as he turned to look at Ciel Phantomhive following him up the stairs, eye wide and cheeks kinda ruddy. The hockey player didn’t answer, pressing his lips into a line as he turned his back to him and bumped open the door of his bedroom. Ciel followed, hesitating at the door frame like a vampire waiting for permission to enter. Sebastian huffed under his breath, putting his beer down on his nightstand so he could sit on the bed, ready to stuff the jealous hole inside him full of Nonno’s homemade pasta.

“You took off pretty quickly,” Ciel said. His lips were swollen, dark from the _very public_ kiss. Sebastian hated how the sight of his mouth kinda turned him on, and kinda pissed him off at the same time.

“I was hungry,” he lied, stabbing his fork into a chunk of sun-dried tomato. Ciel nodded, stepping forward just a little so he could look around the room. His eyes went to the bed, to the fern on the windowsill, spilling out of it’s pot. To the humidifier glowing dream-like on the nightstand, misting the scent of eucalyptus all over the bedroom.

“Do you eat when you’re stressed out?” He asked, wrapping his arm around his petite body. Sebastian paused, fork sticking out of his mouth and considered saying something mean. He grunted instead, chewing thoughtfully.

“I guess,” he admitted. His cheeks burnt. Ciel’s nose twitched, eyes flicking down to the pomodoro sauce on his chin. He took a step forward, hesitant, the same way Deborah would enter the room.

“I have like… the opposite problem,” he muttered, surprisingly honest. Sebastian glanced up at him but the boy wasn’t staring back. He was looking at the framed photos on the wall, coming deeper into his bedroom so he could examine them one by one. Sebastian watched him approach, arm still hugged around his slender waist.

"Did you take these?" Ciel asked. When Sebastian nodded, he raised his eyebrow, mouthing the word _wow_. Something prideful tugged inside of Sebastian, and he glanced back down at his pasta.

“This man looks like you,” Ciel noted, looking at one photo in particular. Sebastian slurped up another string of pasta, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“That’s my Nonno. My grandfather.”

Ciel’s mouth opened and he looked back at the photo, then at Sebastian, then back to Nonno. He must have been a little drunk, because his cheeks were dusted pink and he couldn't quite close his mouth.

“He looks _exactly_ like you. Really handsome, same eyes too,” he muttered, reaching out to touch the glass, transfixed. Sebastian stopped chewing as he realised he’d inadvertently called him _handsome_. Ciel went photo to photo, hand pressed gently to his chest so he could play with the edge of his clavicle, absorbing every photo with that serious, heavy-lashed stare. Sebastian took another look at his little hips and cleared his throat.

“Come here,” he ordered. “You need this.” He stood up, winding up a fat forkful of pasta up and he offered it to the figure skater. Ciel looked down at the fork like it was a knife.

“You know I can’t eat that,” he said with a nervous laugh. Sebastian narrowed his eyes in irritation.

“My Nonno made this. Do you want to insult him?”

And the smile fell from Ciel’s face, his whole face paling as he swallowed guilty, staring down his nose at the forkful of pasta. He shook his head a little, breathing out as he came a little closer. Enough for the fork to nudge against his bottom lip, for him to open his mouth and accept the pasta into his mouth. The fork caught his teeth as it withdrew, and he chewed, staring at Sebastian as he ate.

“That good?”

And Ciel nodded. His plump, lower lip was wet with pomodoro sauce, looking good enough to eat, and Sebastian’s gut tugged with hunger. For something that he couldn’t feed with pasta. He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek and breathed out his nose, feeding Ciel another forkful as the teenager leaned in close enough that they almost touched. The hockey player’s cock twitched in his pants at the sound the boy made, his pretty, kissable mouth coming off the fork with a wet _smack_. Sebastian swallowed, resisting the urge to slam the figure skater against the wall and open up his mouth with his tongue.

“You know,” he started, eyes trailing down his body to stare at his hips in those tight, tight jeans. “You could eat anything you wanted, with a body like that.” And he stepped around him just a little. Enough to check out that tight, little ass. Ciel followed him with his eye, swallowing thickly as his fingers pressed shyly to his own neck.

“Don’t say that,” he mumbled.

“Why not? It’s true.”

Ciel’s cheeks dusted pink, swallowing down to where his fingers still played with his collarbone. Sebastian watched, stepping closer so he could smell more of the perfume, the same miasma the boy left on the collar of his leather jacket.

“I have a boyfriend,” Ciel said, and Sebastian grit his jaw. Something horrible simmered inside him, and as much as he willed it to go away, it took hold in the form of a curled lip, and him backing Ciel up into the wall.

“Really?” The Italian bit, too loud. His hands came up and pressed either side of Ciel’s head, pinning him in place beside the light switch. “The guy that called you a slut. He’s your boyfriend now, huh?”

And to Ciel’s credit he didn’t back away, but his eyes lowered. He shook his head, opening his mouth to speak, but Sebastian cut him off again, enraged.

“You are such a fucking liar,” he noirette growled. Ciel looked up, shocked. “If you have a boyfriend, why the fuck are you here, making out with your little blonde friend?”

“I was _helping_ him,” Ciel hissed, cheeks dark. “He wanted Bard’s attention.”

Sebastian laughed meanly. “Yeah,” he bit. “He definitely got it. I think everyone was staring at you, princess.”

“Are…” Ciel trailed off, wetting his mouth. “Are you jealous?” He asked like a reveltation, eye widening as he stared at the cut on Sebastian’s upper lip. He’d been staring at it all fucking night, and Sebastian forced himself to breath, hand tightening into a fist against the wall as he realised the look in Ciel’s eye wasn’t fear.

“Jealous of what? Watching you tongue-fuck each other?”

Ciel’s breath punched out of him in a surprised gasp, blinking twice at the heat behind his voice. Sebastian’s rage won out everytime, hot and feral in his chest, pushing pretty things like Ciel Phantomhive far, far away from him. Sebastian stepped in even closer, suffocating the lingering space between them. So close that Ciel gasped, and pushed his little hands up against the hard muscle of his chest. He frowned, mouth still open.

“You’re lewd.”

“Says the boy who kisses like he's in heat. How would your boyfriend feel about that?”

“I… I don’t…” He trailed off, staring as Sebastian wet his mouth. His gaze unfocused and the hockey player steeled himself, shoulders tense as he tried, _begged himself_ , to calm down. He pressed his tongue back inside his cheek, closing his eyes as he breathed in. Out. Focused on the smooth plaster under his palms, and the soft, dulcet sound of Ciel’s breathing. When he opened his eyes again, Ciel was staring at him with a crease between his eyebrows.

“Does it hurt?” He asked, and for a second Sebastian thought he meant the rage. The jealousy. Seeing Ciel kiss another man. But his slender fingers were coming up to touch softly at his split lip, tracing the cut with a touch so tender he hardly felt a thing. Sebastian exhaled against them, shaking his head as he captured Ciel’s wrist in his hand. He pressed his fingers closer, and with his lashes still lowered, he pushed a kiss to the ends of his fingers.

“Does he make you happy?” Sebastian asked, lips moving against the ends of them. Ciel was still staring, pupil dilated and black, and unnerving, and so beautiful the hockey player kissed his fingers again. And again. Then hitched up his arm, pressing his mouth into the tender skin of his wrist, breathing in and feeling all the hurt and anger inside him simply crumble away. Ciel’s breath hitched, and he huffed sadly.

“And you think you could?”

Sebastian’s jaw locked, lips pressing into a hard line where they rested on the skin of Ciel’s wrist. He squeezed him once, heart hurting inside his chest.

“Yes,” Sebastian said stubbornly. He released his hand but Ciel’s arm lingered between them for a moment, stunned into inaction. His fingers twitched, then slowly returned to the safe place against his clavicle. He stared hard, like he was thinking, throat bobbing as he cupped his hand and brushed over the kissed skin like it had burnt.

“I’m going to New York on Wednesday,” Ciel said. “For Skate America.”

And Sebastian was reminded that it was _Ciel Phantomhive_ he had pinned to his bedroom wall. A celebrity. America’s sweetheart.

“Yeah, I know. I wasn’t lying about being a fan,” he whispered back.

Ciel smiled, turning his cheek. His hand finally moved, dropping down to take his phone out of his back pocket. The screen clicked as it unlocked, and he handed it over to Sebastian, new contact page looking back at him.

“I won’t see you at the rink," the twenty-year-old started, "and… I’ll miss you.”

Sebastian took the phone off him, still staring dumbly at it.

“Will you miss me?” He finished, lowering his eye.

Sebastian swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Answer my question first.”

"No," Ciel exhaled. "I don’t have a boyfriend.”

And Sebastian felt like he could breathe again. He tapped his number into the phone, putting _Bastian_ as the contact name before saving it. He was shaking as he did it, pressing the glossy case back into the other’s palm before nodding. Some of his hair slipped forward, grazing his cheek as he tried not to smile like a fucking idiot.

“I’ll miss you,” he promised. And Ciel grinned.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel had trained months for this moment.

Years, really. His entire life, if he was being entirely honest. Since he was six-years-old, and turning circles on the rink like he’d been destined to do it, grabbing his brother’s hand so they could sling-shot past each other, bumping shoulders like it was a game, and not something to be marvelled at. Like their father hadn’t been watching, talking in low whispers to their one-day-coach while the twin prodigies traced patterns into the ice.

He’d trained years to be here, in New York. The taste of hairspray in the back of his mouth. On his skin. Holding his hair in place, slicked back against his head, and chapstick all over his mouth. He ran his tongue over his teeth to taste the lingering solution of the teeth-whitener he’d spent all morning with, sticking out of his mouth, stretching his body out on a black yoga mat at the foot of his crisp, hotel bed. And Alois, as essential to him as his skates, sat crossed legged on the sheets, chatting about nothing useful, but anything to take Ciel’s mind off the competition.

Everyone was nervous. Everyone was in sub-vocal, whispering conversation with their coaches, as staff buzzed by with headsets against their mouths, and coffees stacked up in their busy hands, dodging hairspray, and extended legs, and last-minute stretches. Ciel rolled his head against his shoulders, working out the kinks as his coach chatted away on the phone. Every time he caught Ciel staring, he sent him a brilliant smile.

 _You’ve got this_.

Charles was currently out on the ice.

He knew from the cheering. And he knew because Charles was arguably the best figure skater in the country, maybe even the world, and so it was no surprise to him that he would be there. The sight of the blonde skater, dressed in white and black as he performed to something as pretentious and beautiful as he was, didn’t perturb Ciel. He seemed manageable on the ice. Far away. Something Ciel could bury deep inside of himself, like he did with the word that he had called him, and pretend it had never happened.

But then the music ended. The crowd erupted. Charles was coming off the ice, ducking down to snatch a toy thrown down before him before waving, the crowd crying once again as he came up to the sponsored barricade, just a few feet away from the next competitor - Ciel.

He looked horribly perfect. His hair skimmed the sides of his cheeks, ponytail dripping down his collarbone to match the alabaster, pearl-tone outfit he was wearing. His brow was damp with sweat, water bottle clutched in his hand, and a giant pancake plushie in his other. He was smiling sweetly, chest rising and falling as he stepped off the ice and right into Ciel’s personal space.

“Ciel,” he said breathlessly, stepping forward as the teenager stepped back. _No no no no_. His confidence was already beginning to plummet. The blonde smiled, but in a serious and sincere way, and reached forward to cup the nape of Ciel’s neck. Like they were lovers. The cameras flashed on both of them and Ciel wondered how it would look when they posted the photos tomorrow. He pressed his lips together and tried to step back, only to find himself flat against the wall behind him.

“I’ve been meaning to call,” Charles said, shaking his head as he gave Ciel a look so sorrowful that he almost fell for it. His heart was pounding so hard he swore everyone could see it through his thin costume. Charles’s hand left his nape and went for his arm, squeezing softly as he cocked his head.

“I wanted to tell you,” he said, the crowd turning to droning in Ciel’s ears, “how sorry I am for the other night.” The boy’s throat felt tight. His arm pressed against his chest protectively as he looked up at his hero, hardly breathing. He felt himself nod, not really knowing why, other than the fact that he was nervous, and confused, and in front of a hundred cameras.

“It’s fine,” he said. Charles squeezed his arm again, like the pancake plushie in his fist.

“It’s not fine,” he said, shaking his head. _You just dress like a slut_ , was all Ciel could hear. “I want to make it up to you. Take you out again, if you’d give me a second chance.”

Ciel was stunned. Nauseous. He shook his head, drawing his eyebrows together, trying to speak but he could only open and close his mouth like a fish, camera lights cutting off every word before he could speak it. _Why was Charles doing this right before he went on the ice? Didn’t he know how -_

“What the _fuck_ , Grey?”

Ciel stared hard at the Olympian’s face as Alois barged in-between them, realisation blossoming in his chest. His best friend snarled, placing his hand on the taller man’s chest to push him back, blonde bob whipping as he wedged himself firmly between them. For an instant, a horrible look flashed across the white-haired man’s features. Just like the night of the date, when Ciel had told him to stop.

“He’s about to go onto the ice, asshole.”

Alois sounded madder than Ciel had ever heard him before, grabbing Ciel’s arms and walking him back into the privacy of the hallway, away from the cameras, and from Charles, and his pancake plushie. Ciel’s mouth was half open, shocked, even as Alois pushed him into the wall and grabbed his face, forcing them to meet each other’s eyes.

“Hey,” his best friend said, touching their foreheads together. “Hey peanut. Calm down.” He hadn’t realised how hard he’d been breathing, or the tears sitting in the corner of his eye. Alois brushed them away, thumb ducking under the edge of his eyepatch to clear the hidden one out of his bad eye too.

“Calm down,” he soothed. “It’s fine. You know I love you, right? You know you’re going to win this skate, right peanut? You’ve got this.”

Ciel glanced over Alois’s shoulder and saw his coach, waiting, with a dozen cameras, and Charles Grey’s silhouette not far behind. The commentator’s voice over the speaker was just a haze, and Alois forced him to look into his eyes again.

“Say it Ciel, come on.” He rubbed the backs of his arms. “You’ve got this, right?”

And Ciel nodded, heart still racing a million miles an hour.

“I’ve got this,” he whispered. The commentator was saying his name. The crowd was yelling. The cameras behind them both were blinding, and the smell of the ice was simultaneously frightening and beckoning. He clutched the blonde’s fingers, edging forward to hold him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders in a hug. His warm body moored him, and he felt sensation come back to him as they embraced, his breath matching time with Alois’s as he squeezed back, nuzzling his cheek into his hair.

“I’ve got this,” he said again, louder. Without his voice shaking. And Alois nodded, smile dazzling, smoothing back a piece of Ciel’s gelled hair as he headed back out to the stadium, the crowd no longer a drone, but fuel. His name. Cheering. The commentator, loud and booming as he approached the barricade of the ice rink and took a deep, grounding breath.

_Ciel Phantomhive, just twenty years old. Great speed. Great choreography. Competing for the United States of America, alongside his team mate Charles Grey, who is currently fifteen points ahead._

_Just for everyone watching at home, Ciel set a personal best in his short program last season at the Grand Prix Finals, where he also took home gold. Surely another medal is within his grasp if he can skate anywhere near his top form this evening._

He took off his skate guards. His coach spoke into his ear, hand on his lower back. He sent a look towards Alois as he slid out onto the ice, raising his covered hand in the air so the little sparkles hit the spotlights. But the last glance, before he slid out into the rink, he reserved for Charles.

He gave him a look more bitter than the ice. He tensed his jaw. Narrowed his eye. Let his lip curl the slightest, eye locked with the platinum blonde who stood solemnly on the sidelines. His face was tense too, hand gripped too tight around the pancake plushie in his gloves hands, team America jacket slung over his stern shoulders. And it made Ciel smile, because he finally recognised the expression flashing over the older man’s face.

Fear.

And it only pushed Ciel further, bringing his arm down in a graceful sweep as the crowd cried, and he took his queue, and _Ciel Phantomhive_ proceeded to obliterate the fifteen points that divided his and Charles’s short program skate score.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

He called as Ciel left the kiss and cry.

Ciel’s heart skipped at the name on the screen, phone vibrating happily like the boy who was holding it. In his arms he cradled a giant, grey rabbit plush, it’s plastic eye pressed to his cheek as he bit his lip at _Bastian_ popping up on his screen. They’d sent a few texts. Nothing major. Twenty minutes before he skated, Sebastian had sent a good luck message, and promised Bard, Agni and Finn were all watching the competition with him.

And Ciel hadn’t really believed it, until he answered the phone and was assaulted by all four of them, yelling over one another to tell him how _fucking awesome_ he’d looked on ice.

Ciel grinned, unable to speak as Sebastian yelled at someone, phone dropping with a thud and rustling as it was picked back up again, heavy breathing as he finally spoke to Sebastian. _Only_ Sebastian.

“Hey,” he said fondly, nose twitching.

“Hey,” Sebastian said back, smile loud on his voice. “Fuck, Ciel. You were…” He trailed off, clearing his throat. “You looked incredible. Your salchow, _sbalorditivo_ ,  and your quad toe loop? Che _bella_.” He exhaled, and Ciel blushed, tugging at the collar of his tight skate costume.

“You really are a fan,” he mused, nuzzling into the vest of the plush rabbit. It’s floppy ear rested over his face. It smelt like glitter, ice, and plastic. Sebastian laughed into the phone and the noise went straight to Ciel’s dick.

“I am,” the hockey player nodded, doing that thing again, where his piercing clacked over his teeth and did no favours for Ciel’s racing pulse. “Almost broke something waiting for that motherfucker to get off the ice, though.”

Ciel swallowed, glancing up to place where Charles had been. “I wasn't sure I could beat him, he-”

“I knew you would. He isn't shit, Ciel.”

The skater smiled, resting his head against the sponsored wall as his heart clenched, hiding his face into the rabbit. It was too much. His cheeks were permanently pink.

“I mean, I still have to do my free skate, but I’m really pleased with my score.”

“Yeah, fuck,” the other breathed crudely. “You should be.”

He sounded so excited. Ciel was stunned into a stupor by it, struggling to come down from the high of winning his short skate, and from Sebastian’s sweet everythings into his ear.

“Did you get one of those dumb little rabbits?” He asked, and Ciel stared at the massive plushie in his arms.

“ _Bitter_ rabbit,” he snorted. “He's Japanese, everyone thinks he looks like me. Because of the eyepatch, y’know.” Sebastian huffed, rustling around on the other end of the phone. “But yeah, I got one.”

“Send me a picture.”

And Ciel obeyed without question, pulling his phone back to pose, pressing his lips to the rabbit's cheek with a little smirk. He sent it off with his stomach tight, pressing the phone back to his ear to wait for the man's voice again. There was a little buzz, then Sebastian made a satisfied sound, like the noise he made when he ate pasta, and Ciel’s stomach flipped.

“Cute,” he groaned. “I like it’s little tail. Do you have one of those too?” He dropped his voice down so low and husky that Ciel stopped breathing, closing his eyes so he could snort down the line at the other man.

“No,” he mumbled. But he was smiling. Smiling so wide it hurt his jaw, and he was thankful the other couldn’t see the stupidly charmed face he so easily coaxed from him. And he realised Sebastian made him happy.

Stupidly. Obsessively. Happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE KUDOS. PLEASE COME CHAT TO ME ABOUT THIS CHAPTER.


	6. Take On Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm not really happy with this chapter. It feels like something is missing. I have the most trouble writing Kiss & Cry, so it could all be in my head... Please let me know if you liked it. My sanity is on the line!

Sebastian's hands shook.

He tried to steady them by crushing a clove of garlic beneath the flat of his knife. It crumbled, and he diced it. But his hand still trembled.

Ciel Phantomhive was sitting at his kitchen bench.

And without the haze of alcohol, or the confidence of his friends – Sebastian was _nervous_.

When he'd texted _come over_ to the boy, he'd been utterly unprepared for the boy to respond _be there soon_. He had no idea what to do with the figure skater, whose hair was still damp from his shower, and whose delicate wrists caught the light of the midday sun as it streamed in through the window. He watched quietly as Sebastian diced garlic, and it made the hockey player feel sick.

 _Pasta amatriciana_ was his best dish. He had made it a thousand times, his Nonno teaching the recipe to him as a child. Tomato, prosciutto, and pasta. It was the one thing he could make better than his grandfather.

“How was your flight?” Sebastian forced out, collecting the garlic in the palm of his hand. Ciel was watching him too closely. The half-smile on the corner of his mouth told Sebastian he could see every tremor of his hand.

“It was okay,” Ciel said, tucking back his trademark hair. “I told you they fed me on the flight. You don't have to go to the trouble.”

Sebastian screwed up his nose.

“Airplane food isn't _real_ food,” he argued, plucking an onion from the bench top. He peeled and chopped that too, perfunctory circles as he dared to glance up at the figure skater. He was still semi-smiling, head tilted. Sebastian looked back down at the chopping board, terrified he'd chop off his own finger if he stared any longer.

“I thought you were only making me a _quick_ snack,” Ciel teased, using his own words against him. Sebastian huffed, collecting his onion cubes and throwing them into the pan with the garlic.

“This _is_ quick,” Sebastian said, wiping his hands. “But it’s not a snack. You need a meal, Ciel.” He glanced too long at his narrow wrists, and the slender arc of his shoulder were his shirt slipped down a little. The boy's cheeks turned a pretty hue.

“Really?” The boy said, trying to frown. His cheeks grew brighter, blinking a couple of times as he tried with all his might to be mad at the Italian. Sebastian stood his ground, and nodded.

“Trust me, you need this,” he pushed. _Persistenza_ , he thought to himself, swallowing his nerves down to the depth of his belly.

“And what is _this?_ ” Ciel shot back, twisting the ring against his thumb. For a second Sebastian was wordless, unable to decipher the double entendre the boy had given. In his silent stupor he could hear his roommates down the hall, watching a movie in the lounge. They had the good grace not to disturb them. Not to play witness to the formidable hockey player's hands shaking like a child's.

“This,” Sebastian said, perhaps too confidently, “is the pasta that will make you fall in love with me.”

Ciel raised one eyebrow, a surprised sound falling from his mouth. Then he laughed, so bright and clear it filled the kitchen with light. Sebastian stopped shaking when he heard the pretty sound, glancing up to watch the way it illuminated the skater’s features, better than any camera flash or magazine filter.

“Oh,” Ciel grinned, wider than Sebastian had seen before. “This better be the best fucking pasta I've ever had.”

Sebastian set the sauce to simmer, glancing up again to catch the last traces of the glow on Ciel's cheeks. His stomach turned. He tongued the inside of his cheek.

“It will be,” he promised. He gave Ciel a smile of his own, leaning forward on the counter. He heard someone's laughter from the hall, echoing off the tiles. Ciel turned towards the sound.

“I don’t know how you do it,” the boy admitted. “Living with all your friends, I mean.” He turned back to the Italian and searched his face for something the man couldn’t put his finger on. “Doesn’t it feel crowded?”

Sebastian hummed, pressing his lips together. He could hear the pasta boiling, and smell the sweetness of the simmering sauce. He shrugged, tracing a line over the marble countertop.

“I like feeling crowded,” he said, hoping he didn't sound dumb. “I don't like when the house is empty. They’re my family,” he continued, fondness catching his throat. “We eat together, live together. They know everything about me and I know everything about them. We share everything.”

“Everything?” Ciel echoed, mouth curving up. It made something pool beneath Sebastian’s gut.

“Well,” he breathed. “Not _everything_.” And when he dared to look up again he notice Ciel's tomato-coloured mouth, and his slender neck. Maybe he stared for too long, because the boy wet his mouth and blushed.

“So, can I try it now?” Ciel said suddenly, clearing his throat. He glanced down at the simmering pasta, and Sebastian felt his own cheeks darken.

“What do you say?” He teased, shooting Ciel his infamous smirk, turning down the heat on the sauce. Ciel rolled his eye as the Italian drained the pasta, serving up the most petite bowl he'd ever made. His grandfather would kill him if he could see the size of it – but he knew Ciel would protest at more. He stabbed a fork into the fresh pasta, then offered a little chunk of it to Ciel.

“I can feed myself,” Ciel sassed, glancing at the offending food. Sebastian shook his head.

“I don't think you can,” Sebastian said. “I could fit both my hands around your waist. So open up, and say please.”

Ciel blushed florid. He blinked rapidly, his mouth open just the slightest. The pasta smelt good, and Ciel was hungry. He leaned forward for the fork, but Sebastian withdrew it just an inch.

“ _Please_ ,” Ciel whispered, frowning. Sebastian's heart stopped. He pushed the fork against his mouth and the boy took it, closing his eye so Sebastian could enjoy the downward slope of his grey eyelashes.

Ciel made a soft, pleased sound. His small, pink tongue darted out to catch the sauce on the corner of his mouth. It made his lips red and wet, and Sebastian stared with a hunger that could not be sated with food. His cock was kinda hard, pressed tight to the zipper of his jeans.

“Do you like that?” He murmured, and his voice was entirely inappropriate for the kitchen, but Ciel opened his eye and nodded. His cheeks were a pretty colour, and when he offered him a second bite the boy didn’t hesitate to lean in and take the offering, eye falling shut again as the fork passed his teeth.

It was the sub-vocal sigh that had Sebastian – hook, line, and sinker.

“Taste good, baby?” He asked again.

Ciel looked like he wanted to be mad. There was a frown between his eyebrows and his lips pressed together, but it looked like a pout more than anything, too subdued by the edible love potion. Sebastian put down the fork in favour of cupping Ciel's cheek, and the figure skater didn't fight him as he used his thumb to ebb away the sauce on his lip.

The boy was a messy eater, and somehow that made him even sexier to Sebastian.

“Don’t call me baby,” Ciel muttered, damp mouth moving against the pad of Sebastian’s thumb. His lashes flickered and he glanced down, pupil blown. His hand reached for Sebastian’s wrist. His nails dug lightly in his skin. Sebastian groaned, and leaned in over the counter.

“ _Baby_ ,” he whispered. “Gattino.”

Ciel bristled at that.

“D-don’t,” he protested. Sebastian stared hard at his mouth. Ciel stared back at his.

“Don't what?” Sebastian breathed, leaning in until his nose brushed against the end of Ciel’s. It forced a breath from the boy, dulcet with tomatoes. The figure skater leaned in, just a little. Enough to press their mouths together with a quiet _smack_.

Sebastian’s pulse rushed through his heart and liquefied his gut. He pressed closer, breathing in the sigh that escaped the boy of his dreams. He tilted Ciel's head with his black-polished nails and leaned in for another kiss, coaxing Ciel forward on the countertop so their mouths could meet, and open, and press together again.

“Fuck,” Sebastian mumbled, staring down at Ciel's mouth. He kissed it again, hand going to the back of his head. He pressed in for another, opening his mouth to lick his tongue over Ciel's bottom lip. The boy shuddered, drawing in a harsh breath, and then a little hand was on the side of Sebastian’s neck, fingernails raking into his undercut. He took the opportunity to dip his tongue past his teeth. To taste his teeth, and his tongue. Ciel groaned, fingers tightening as his own tongue met the metal stud in Sebastian’s mouth. The hockey player huffed, pressing on closer so he could curl his tongue under Ciel's and lick the underside of it.

When they broke apart it was with another smack. Ciel’s mouth was shiny with spit, his hand shaking where it played with the back of Sebastian’s hair. He glanced up and stared at him, noses touching. His pupil was fat and black, his chest rising and falling.

“I've never kissed a boy before,” Sebastian said, not sure of why he said it. It was true though. Ciel nodded, cherry mouth pressing into a line as he took a deep breath.

“W-what's it like?” He asked, splaying his hand. His fingers picked at their hair-tie in Sebastian’s bun. His eyelashes tickled his cheek.

“Taste prettier than I thought a boy would taste,” Sebastian mumbled. He felt drunk from the kiss. Ciel smiled, and then laughed softly, and it disarmed Sebastian. He surged forward to kiss him harder, one hand still on the back of his head, the other coming up to clutch into Ciel’s side. He flicked his piercing over the boy's tongue, feeling him pant against the stud. He sucked at it and Sebastian’s hips pressed into the counter, blood hot and aching with desire.

“You taste pretty good too,” Ciel told him as they parted. He looked more serious. Less flustered. Sebastian listened, eyes lidded, and went in for another kiss. Then another, and another, until his hand was squeezing Ciel’s hip so hard he thought he’d break it, and he could taste _pasta_ _amatriciana_ up the back of his throat _._

A tinkling, music box sound broke their mouths apart once more, and Ciel withdrew with a groan, hand fumbling for his phone that vibrated on the countertop. He glanced at the screen while Sebastian coaxed his heart out of his stomach, and finally Ciel's shoulders deflated.

“I'm late for ballet,” he said regretfully, chewing his bottom lip as if to catch the last of their kiss. Sebastian's head was stuffed with cotton wool.

“Ballet...” He said back, trying to blink the daze from his eyes. Ciel watched fondly, nodding.

“Yeah,” he said. “Ballet lessons. Y’know?”

When Sebastian’s brain cleared he groaned in the back of his throat, the knowledge doing no favours to his stiff, unattended dick. _Ballet_. Ciel was a living, breathing sex fantasy. He didn't break out of the stupor until Ciel slipped down from the counter seat and tucked his phone into the pocket of his high-waisted jeans.

“I'm _really_ late,” he reiterated, urging Sebastian to come back to reality. He nodded, hair falling lose in three places due to Ciel's curious fingers.

“Wait, real quick.”

He put the remaining bowl of pasta into a plastic container, clipping a lid over it so stream condensed against the walls. He pushed it over to the boy, feeling somewhat nervous.

“For later,” he explained. Ciel blushed, staring at the little container with his hand brushing over his collarbone.

“I can’t eat all of that,” he laughed, but he reached for it anyway. He held it to his chest, thumb rubbing the edge of the plastic.

“You're going to eat it because I made it for you,” Sebastian said, cocking an eyebrow at Ciel in case he dared doubt his seriousness. The boy shook his head, getting flustered again.

“You’re so dumb,” he breathed, but there were no bite to his words. Sebastian could still taste him, his cherry mouth, sweet and hot against his tongue hours after he left.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Agni wanted to be annoyed that Sebastian found him.

He faked a frown as the Italian bumped his bedroom door closed with his hip, padding into the room with bare feet. His sweat pants were low on his hips, showing off the tattoos on his stomach. He was wearing an old t-shirt, cropped above his navel. It was utterly stupid, but Sebastian had the type of body that allowed him to get away with shit like that.

Agni swallowed thickly as the man got up onto the bed beside him, staring hard at the pages of his novel. Music was still thumping downstairs but he didn't want to party tonight. From the look of Sebastian’s outfit, he was done with the commotion too.

“Were you hiding from me?” Sebastian asked, settling down so they were laying side by side. He propped himself up on one elbow, and when Agni glanced at him the man gave him a slow, cheeky smile.

“No,” Agni lied. His stomach turned as Sebastian grinned wider, tongue darting out against his lower lip to catch the last traces of whatever he’d had last. Beer, or Ciel Phantomhive’s mouth. His piercing caught the low light in the bedroom, and Agni quickly turned back to his book.

“You drunk?” He asked, pretending to read. He hadn’t read a word since Sebastian walked into his room wearing a fucking crop top. He saw the Italian nod in his peripheral, some of that inky hair falling lose from it’s bun and hanging between his eyes.

“Are you?” Sebastian asked, his voice dropped down an octave. Agni shook his head. He wished he were.

“Oh,” Sebastian murmured. He glanced at the book in Agni’s hand and nudged his chin towards his shoulder. “Can I stay here while you read? Bard's with a girl and you know our bedrooms are wall to wall, _so_...”

Agni wanted to say no.

“Okay,” he said instead. He hooked his finger between the pages of his book as Sebastian scooted closer, laying his head down in the crook of Agni’s shoulder. He smelt like shampoo and deodorant, and the taller player tried not to smell his hair as he laid down against his chest. He failed.

He could tell Sebastian had something on his mind. Although this wasn’t out of the ordinary for them, the cuddling, there was something off about it. Sebastian was being uncharacteristically silent, and hardly moved as he laid there on Agni’s chest. His shoulders rose and fell as he breathed, and the older boy tentatively laid his hand against the back of Sebastian’s head.

“You don’t like Ciel,” Sebastian said. Not a question. He shifted his cheek against Agni’s chest so he could look up at him, waiting for an answer. Agni was certain the Italian could feel how hard his heart was pounding. He still hadn’t read a single word.

“That’s not it,” he said. He swallowed. He tried to pick up his sentence in the last place he left it, but Sebastian was still staring at him. He could feel his eyes examining every inch of his face, eyes the same colour as the tomato sauce they’d had for dinner.

“You think,” a pause to wet the corner of his mouth. “You think he’s going to hurt me.”

Agni’s hand went tense in the back of the man’s hair. He couldn’t look away from his book, but he pressed his lips together and nodded. He didn’t expect the little laugh the Italian gave him, warm air fanning across his throat.

“ _Arshad_.”

Sebastian’s voice was low and chastising. It did something funny to Agni’s gut.

“Don’t call me that,” Agni warned, glancing down. Sebastian’s mouth was quirked up, eyebrow raised. He looked entirely too pleased with himself. He raised himself up off Agni’s chest, grinning down at him.

“You know I love when you’re protective of me,” Sebastian cooed. His voice was raw with liquor. Sticky. Agni’s heart thumped. “But I know what I’m doing.”

Agni’s cheeks coloured with shame. He closed his book, putting it down on the bed so he could sit up on his elbows. Sebastian was so close like this, leaning forward so they could press their foreheads together.

“After Mia -” Agni stopped speaking when Sebastian readjusted on the bed, pressing his hand down into the pillow behind his head. The other came up and tugged at the hem of his t-shirt.

“Mia  _who?_ ” Sebastian smiled, splaying his hand against Agni’s stomach. “I don’t know her.”

 _Oh_. So it was going to be like that tonight.

Sebastian’s hand was warm and rough against his belly, sliding higher until Agni’s shirt was hitched over his navel. The Italian’s thumb nudged the piercing in it, tugging at it in the way he knew annoyed the older man.

“You’re being annoying,” Agni said. He didn’t really mean to use that word. Didn’t really match what Sebastian was being right now.  _Needy_  would have been a more accurate description.

And when Sebastian acted needy, things always ended the same way. Normally Agni was much, much drunker when this sort of thing started to go down.

They’d done it before. Too many times to call it an accident. It was more of a bad habit, he supposed. Like smoking when drunk. Except it wasn’t like smoking at all. It was worse.

“Am I?” Sebastian smiled, glancing up. Agni watched as his fingers splayed over his ribs, pushing higher. Until his shirt was hitched up over his abs, and the Italian was stroking his sides. He felt hot air over his belly as the man laughed again, digging his nails in a little. Just enough to get Agni’s breath to hitch.

“I’m horny,” he commented, like it was nothing. Maybe all of this  _was_  nothing for Sebastian.

Agni’s heart beat so heart he thought it might stop. He threw his head back against the pillows as the Italian tugged at the string on his sweat pants, more of that black hair falling loose and tickling his stomach.

 _Play dead_ , he told himself.  _Maybe he will leave you alone_.

He laid completely still. After a moment he dared to glance down - only to see Sebastian staring back at him, that cruel smile curled up on his mouth.

“So?” Agni asked, trying to play the nonchalant card. Sebastian’s smirk widened, his palm flat against his hip. The man breathed in, and Sebastian’s hand moved up over the swell of his chest. Like it belonged there. Agni ached, trying to keep his face impassive.

“So…” Sebastian trailed off, tilting his head. Agni couldn’t help the way his hand reached up and cupped the side of his face. The Italian pressed into it like a dog would, closing his eyes. The taller player tugged his hair loose of it’s elastic tie, wavy locks of black falling against his jawline. He exhaled like it felt good, and the sound only suffocated all of Agni’s internal reasoning of why they _shouldn’t_  be doing this.

“You know what I’m thinking about?” Sebastian asked, eyes still closed. His voice was low, like it got when he was turned on. Agni shook his head. He never knew what Sebastian was thinking.

“That blonde from Tacoma,” the Italian answered, opening one eye to see if Agni remembered too. He raised an eyebrow, and the other’s stomach turned. “Remember? With the butterfly tattoo.”

He didn’t need to remind Agni. How could he forget her? The girl they’d both fucked.

“What about her?” Agni asked, hand cupping the back of his best friend’s head. He rubbed at the nape of his nape. His skin was burning. They were laying too close. Sebastian kept giving him that look.  _That_   _smile_. The one that could convince women to do  _anything_  for him.

“She was all like,” and Sebastian paused so he could tuck his hair behind his ear, laughing. He tilted his head, sitting up on his knees a little so he could imitate the girl. He squeezed Agni’s hips, and when he spoke again his voice was raised an octave. Airy, and put on.

“She was like _oh my god_ ,” he breathed. He shot a pointed glance down at Agni’s dick, kinda hard and tented in his grey sweats. He chewed his lip, just like she did, and pretended to look surprised.

“It’s  _so_  big,” he groaned. “I’ve never had sex with an Indian guy before.”

Agni made a little noise, huffing at the memory. Sebastian laughed too, all his muscles tensing up under his crop top, making Agni’s own stomach turn beneath his skin.

"And then she choked on it,” Sebastian snickered. Agni narrowed his eyes and groaned.

“That wasn’t sexy.”

Sebastian shot him a look, raising his eyebrow as he glanced down at his tented pants.

“Really?” He smirked. Then he slid his hand between Agni’s thighs and cupped his cock through the thin fabric. “Because you’re hard just thinking about it.”

Agni didn’t have the heart to tell him he wasn’t hard for the blonde girl from Tacoma. That he was hard for the Italian who’d muttered filthy shit up in his ear while she’d sucked his cock. Didn’t know how to tell Sebastian how easy it’d been for him to close his eyes and imagine it was _his_ mouth getting his dick wet instead.

Agni didn’t have the heart to admit the fact that would kill their friendship.

“She was right though,” Sebastian said, sitting up enough to slip Agni’s sweats down his hips. His cock smacked against his stomach, not wearing anything underneath. It was already swollen, dark with blood. “It’s pretty fucking big.”

“Bastian,” Agni whispered, breath hitching as his best friend wrapped his hand around it. He gave it a stroke, staring at it’s weight as his tattooed fist moved up and down it. He spat right on the end of it, twisting his wrist and jerking him off, all while wearing that smug, dirty look on his face.  _And that crop top_.

“He does ballet,” Sebastian said out of the blue, crease between his eyebrows as he hugged the base of his cock. Agni groaned, jerking his hips up into his hand. For a second he couldn’t understand, couldn’t make sense of why Sebastian would say that. Then it came to him.

 _Ciel_.

“I don't care,” Agni sighed, sitting up on his elbows as his best friend stroked his cock. _If he just shut his mouth_ , he figured. Sebastian jerked his fist up and down his cock, slick with spit, pushing his thumb into the tip, rough enough to make the other man's abdomen tense up and groan.

“You don't have to _love_ Ciel,” Sebastian said, heart on his sleeve like he weren’t fisting Agni's cock up and down with wet sounds. “But can you at least be happy for me?”

“ _Bastian_ ,” Agni groaned, falling back against the pillows. “I am h-ha, _fuck_. Happy for you.”

His nails dug into the sheets. His stomach undulated, fucking his own cock into the warm, tight hug of the Italian’s hand. Each time his thumb grazed the end, nudged slick across his fist, Agni's brain rebooted itself.

But his words earned him a charming smile, albeit slightly drunk. The sight of Sebastian’s teeth and his carmine eyes were enough to turn over Agni's heart and have it crawling up his throat. Sebastian took his hand, squeezed it, then sat it on his hip.

“Touch me too?” He pleaded, as if it were a chore for Agni. Like he had to ask sweetly, to beg. In reality, Agni would drop to his knees for that cock. He nodded, keeping his mouth shut in case he blurted _let me fuck you_ right then and there.

Sebastian took his hand and forced it up against his stiff cock. Agni sighed, and grabbed it through the fabric of his sweats, feeling his own cock throb at the weight of it. It was thick, and blood hot, and jumped when he squeezed it. Sebastian made the prettiest moan, dragging his hand higher to force it against his stomach, then slip it under the waistband of his pants.

“ _Agni_ ,” he mumbled, eyes fluttering shut. His hand stalled on Agni's cock, squeezing it hard as his friend grabbed the thick of his own. Then it stuttered back to life, moving jerkily as he fell forward, on his hands and knees above the taller man.

“Yeah, fuck,” he groaned, mouth open. “You're so good at that. Agni, mmm _-hah_.”

His mouth was right above Agni’s. His eyes were closed. The muscles in his arms were tense, tight. His hair fell down around his face, swaying as he tucked himself into Agni’s hand, sweatpants around his thighs. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to rut his cock against the underside of Sebastian’s, press it up under him so he could feel how hot and firm it was, how needy. How full of blood it was for him, and only him.

He wanted to tear that stupid crop top off his chest, force him down onto his stomach, and see how much Sebastian liked his cock when it was forced up in his tight ass. His cock throbbed his just thinking about it.

But the only rule was they were not allowed to touch. Their dicks, their mouths. _Only_ hands. Anything else would cross a line.

“U-uhhhh, fuck,” Sebastian breathed. He tasted sweet, so close Agni could feel the heat of his mouth without touching it. “Fuck me, yeah. That’s so good,” he praised. “That’s so fucking good.”

He opened his eyes to look at Agni. They were glazed over, cloudy with want. Agni's own looked the same, pupils blown and mouth parted as he struggled to draw in enough air. His chest was panting, hips bucking up into that calloused, pretty hand.

“I'm too good to you,” Agni groaned, twisting his wrist up in a way that made Sebastian’s eyes roll back into his head. “I'm too fucking good to you,” he said, over and over.

Sebastian's nodding only made it worse.

“You _are_ ,” he agreed, wrist still pumping up and down as he stared into the black of his best friend's eyes. He smiled slowly, handsome. Like coming out of a dream. His tongue wet his bottom lip, and Agni stared at the silver against the meat of his lip, matching the piercing in his navel.

“I love you,” Sebastian told him. “You’re my best friend.”

He said it every time, and when Agni was drunk it didn't hurt as much. He’d say it back, head heavy with liquor, same dumb smile on his mouth as they jerked each other off, pretending it was something all best friends did.

He didn't say it back tonight. He kept staring into Sebastian’s eyes, kept glaring at his handsome mouth, and had the saddest orgasm of his life against the tattoos on the Italian’s knuckles.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel stared like a lovestruck teenager.

He couldn’t look away as Sebastian warmed up on the ice, grinning as one of his teammates said something to him. He was wearing his helmet and his chest armour, and a cream-coloured _Wham!_ t-shirt under the strapping. The fabric clung to his arms and Ciel appreciated the way it tugged over the muscle and tattoos as the Italian waved at him, practically wagging his tail.

Ciel bit his lip and tried not to grin. He’d shown up at the rink an hour earlier than usual for the soul purpose of watching Sebastian skate. One kiss and he was done. He could ignore the stupid, plastic mouth-guard smile and the tacky 80s t-shirt. The sight of the man woke him up better than the latte in his hand. His smile gleamed brighter than the ice.

Things were going perfectly until Charles showed up.

Ciel noticed the sound of his sneakers first. He spent enough time listening to the squeak of his designer shoes to recognise them when they stepped into the arena. Like a knee-jerk reaction, Ciel looked up and locked eyes with the Olympian who was coming his way.

“Charles,” he breathed, his heart skipping a beat. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Charles trained here often. He’d been the one who suggested this rink in particular to Ciel.

“Ciel,” he smiled back, the expression not quite reaching his eyes. He glanced out at the ice, seemingly bored. He readjusted the strap of his gym bag, and leaned one arm on the barrier Ciel was pressed against.

“I guess I should congratulate you on winning gold,” he said. He flashed that camera-ready smile again but Ciel saw right through it. “It’s not everyday someone beats me. But you’re not just _someone_ , are you Ciel?”

His tone was flirtatious, but it had Ciel’s skin crawl, his stomach flip.

“Thank you,” he said to the man, to his hero, a lump in his throat. He hated how subdued he felt. How small. How being close enough to catch the man’s cologne was enough to send him back there, to the dark of his apartment, with his hand up his shirt.

 _Slut_.

Charles’s mouth curled up like he could read Ciel’s mind. The twenty-year-old looked over his shoulder to where the hockey team were practicing, blissfully unaware. _Someone look_ , Ciel secretly urged. He was broken out of his silent prayer when a hand grabbed the side of his face.

“You’re not still upset with me?” Charles asked, turning his head so he was forced to look. He could count Charles’s eyelashes. He could feel the warmth of his body pressing gradually closer to his. He was pinned between the cool glass barrier, and the frosty facade of his childhood hero. And despite the lingering displeasure he had for Charles, he couldn’t shake that distant awe he felt from having the Olympian stand so close to him.

“I’m not upset with you,” Ciel said back, like a sheep. When Charles smiled his breath hit Ciel’s mouth. His hand squeezed the fat of Ciel’s cheek, firm enough to sting.

“Good,” he grinned, that same hand shifting to tuck Ciel’s bangs behind his ear. The touch made him uneasy. The boy turned again, catching the team in his peripheral. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Oh,” Ciel said on autopilot, staring at the hockey players. One had stopped, was staring at Charles Grey with his stick slung over one shoulder. Agni, Ciel thought distantly. His heart crawled up into his throat, and he tried to shake his head. He pleaded with a higher power that Sebastian did not turn around too.

But he did, at the exact instant that Charles kissed him.

For a second he was too stunned to move. The familiar bruise of Charles’s mouth had the boy gasp, his hands up between them like he couldn’t fathom the shock that coursed through his veins. The Olympian’s hand was tight in the back of his hair, kissing Ciel with an intimacy that they’d never achieved. It felt fake. It felt forced. Ciel’s brain rebooted and he shoved the blonde back as hard as he could.

“Don’t touch me,” Ciel warned, his chest rising and falling. He could taste his pulse. His cheeks burnt. He trembled all over.

“Ciel, I thought we were-”

“You’re not _anything_ to me,” Ciel cried, his knees locked so he wouldn’t fall over or faint. His knuckles were white on the barrier, his teeth grit as the blonde stared him down. Distantly, a door slammed and it echoed up into the triple-story rafters.

“I see,” Charles said, the expression on his face hardening into one that matching his cold, serious eyes. There was no honey left to his voice. His jaw locked, and he flicked his eyes down Ciel’s body, his lip curled just the slightest. Ciel opened his mouth to yell at him, to tell him to leave, but from the corner of his eyes he could see the entire hockey team had stopped to watch.

They were all staring, except Sebastian.

He was gone.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian’s heart sunk to his gut so quick he almost threw up.

He couldn’t get off the ice fast enough. The instant he saw Charles kissing Ciel, his heart had crumbled into pieces. His face burnt with embarrassment, with the knowledge the entire team (and his friends), had seen the boy he’d been crushing on _kiss another man_.

He’d been so stupid. Charles was an _Olympian_. His own foolishness drowned out the sound of everything else. Agni’s shout. The door as it slammed shut behind him. His skate guards as they clacked against the tiled floor of the locker room, and the _drip_ of the shower heads. He pulled off his skates so fast the lace snapped, and it only made him more furious.

Ciel found him before he could tie the laces on his boots. He stood up too fast, left them unlaced, as the figure skater burst into the locker room, his face pink like he had run the entire way.

“Sebastian,” he panted, combing back his fringe from where it clung to his damp face. He gave the hockey player a once over, his throat bobbing as he noticed how tense the older man was.

“Don’t talk to me right now,” Sebastian muttered, slinging his skates over one shoulder as he pushed past the boy. He couldn’t look at him. Didn’t even want to smell him. The sight of Ciel made him so upset that he could taste his bitter heart in the back of his throat. The Italian’s cheeks burnt in embarrassment, his tongue pressed inside his cheek to ignore the way his heart swelled when a hand grabbed his shirt and tried to stop him.

“Sebastian, _please_. You didn’t see-”

Ciel yelped when Sebastian spun around and shoved him into the wall. His head made a _thud_ against the tile, his eye squeezed shut as his hands came up protectively between them. He was scared, but Sebastian wanted that. All he could think about was hurting Ciel in the same way he was hurting. Pulling his heart out of his chest and squeezing it so hard it burst. Making him feel small, and defeated, and embarrassed.

“I _know_ what I saw,” Sebastian hissed. Ciel was so easy to pin to the wall, his chest half covered by the span of the Italian’s hand. It took the boy a second to come back online, blinking rapidly, one hand coming up to grab the arm that held him in place.

“You’re h-hurting me,” the boy wheezed, nails digging into his wrist. Sebastian couldn’t breath. Couldn’t see anything other than red, the same colour as Ciel’s mouth, with the kiss of another man pressed into it.

“ _Good_ ,” Sebastian muttered He was still shaking. He felt sick. The sight of Ciel’s lovely, anguished face. The smell of him standing so close. The image of him kissing Charles Grey seared into his memory.

“I don’t want to see you again,” he told Ciel, giving him another shove for good measure. He put his heartache behind the touch, pushing him hard enough to ensure the boy wouldn’t crawl back to him. The push made him feel ugly, but he relished in it, teeth grit together.

He didn’t deserve Ciel anyway.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel showed up at the house after the incident.

Agni thought that he might have. Despite what happened, Sebastian had an infuriating way of curling women (and Ciel Phantomhive) around his little finger as if they were mindless beings. Even when the man lost his temper and threw them into the locker room wall. Even when he stormed off like a child, speeding away on his motorcycle before anyone could slap any reason into him. Agni knew that Ciel would eventually come knocking, because this was not the first time it had happened.

He just didn't expect it to be the same afternoon.

The figure skater had never looked anything less than perfect before. But as Agni opened the door, wearing only an old pair of sweatpants, he noticed a lack lustre to Ciel's baby-doll face. Usually he looked Photoshopped, like he'd walked right out of the glossy poster they had pinned to the bathroom wall. Today he looked like a shadow of himself, his eyes and nose hued with the pink of crying, his hands gripped tight to an empty Tupperware container.

"He's not here," Agni said, staring at the fairy-light rain in the boy's hair. Ciel mouthed a soft _oh_ , and glanced out at the rainy street. He looked forlorn. Sheepish. He looked downright pathetic, and even though a small part of Agni wanted to resent him ( _the first boy his best friend loved, the boy who was not him_ ), he couldn't help the tug of sympathy that came with the image of the young man standing out in the rain.

So he ushered Ciel inside, and sat him at the kitchen counter, and he poured him a bowl of the _dal makhani_ he'd been cooking on the stovetop, placing the bowl right under the boy's face like a sickly kitten he'd found on the street.

"I can't eat this," Ciel said, casting that sad, sole eye up to the man on the other side of the counter. Agni crossed his arms, aware of his partial nakedness. Even his hair was tied up on his head, leaving his throat and shoulders bare, beside from the tattoos. He rubbed at the back of his neck.

"I made it from scratch," Agni pushed, sounding exactly like his mother. "It's vegan," he added, as if to rectify his embarrassment. It did not work. Ciel stared down at the curry, tucking back some of his hair from his tear-tracked face.

"I can't put on any weight," he explained, and then sniffled. "I've gained so much since last season."

Agni was quiet as he looked at the boy. He examined every inch of him. His bird-bone wrists, and slender throat. He leaned forward a little to check out his thighs, so small he could wrap both hands around them.

" _Where?_ " He blurted, instantly pressing his lips into a line so he wouldn't say anything more. Ciel's eye flashed.

"You wouldn't understand," the boy grit. He wiped his sleeve against his nose, still staring at the curry. "No one does, _especially_ hockey players. You can just eat, and eat, and eat - because if you gain weight? Great! You're supposed to be-" He gestured to Agni's naked chest, his cheeks pink, "You're supposed to be huge! But do you know how difficult it is to turn _three times_ in the air when you gain a few pounds?" He cried, his voice pitching, his hands still raised in anger. "It's already impossible! Let alone when you're chubby!"

Ciel finished his rant with a sob, his hands coming down flat on the countertop. Agni didn't move. Didn't blink. He was stunned, jaw locked as he tried to decipher what would be the right thing to say, what would be appropriate. In that moment he understood perfectly what Sebastian had meant when he said Ciel always made him feel dumb.

"You're not... chubby," Agni tried, wincing as the words left his mouth, and Ciel sobbed again. He covered his mouth and nodded, as if in shock. Agni coiled and uncoiled his fists by his sides, feeling entirely out of his element. Ciel was eggshells. Ciel was a soufflé. If he said the wrong thing, he would deflate.

"You don't understand what it's like," Ciel cried through his fingers. It was obvious he wasn't used to this. The emotion. He hid his entire face like Agni held a camera to it. It made the man surge forward and grab Ciel's delicate wrist. He pried it from his face, and with the other hand snared a handful of tissues and dabbed them to Ciel's face.

"You're right," he told the boy as he caught a tear rolling off his cheek. Ciel looked up at him through his eyelashes, and despite the tears and red cheeks he looked very, very beautiful. Agni was momentarily stunned, watching another tear roll down Ciel's face and drip off the upturn of his nose.

"I am?" He whispered back. Agni nodded, grabbing another bunch of tissues and stuffing them under Ciel's nose. It was easier to pretend this was one of his little cousins, and not a pretty young man.

"Not, not about being chubby, Ciel. _God_. You're so," he paused to examine the wrist he still held in one hand. "You're built like a bird. But you're right that I don't understand. You must feel a lot of pressure," he added, voice low. "It was insensitive of me to hand you food without offering first."

He let go of his wrist and tried to take back the _dal makhani_ , but Ciel stopped him. He cleared his throat, blinking fast to dry the tears on his lashes.

"Don't," Ciel said. "It smells good, a-and I haven't eaten all day."

Agni let go of the bowl, and Ciel pulled it back to him with a little squeak across the tabletop. He looked up at Agni with a fond face, finally taking the spoon from the curry and putting a little cat-sized bite into his mouth. A part of Agni softened at the action, relieved the boy had stopped crying and was eating.

Ciel stayed for another hour.

They didn't talk about Sebastian, or what happened at the rink. It didn't matter - Agni had seen everything. They spoke about their schedules instead. Agni packed another serving of curry into the Tupperware container for Ciel to take home as they discussed training methods, and what they listened to when they worked out, and what gym they liked best. They spread gossip to each other about other skaters, whispering secrets until Ciel started smiling again. By the time the boy stood up to leave, Agni had learned three things.

First, that Ciel was a Sagittarius. Second, he was a twin.

The third thing he noticed when Ciel laughed at something he said. It was a bright, clear sound - slightly syrupy from the crying but charming none-the-less. His teeth were straight and white. His eyelashes kissed his cheek as the sound echoed in the kitchen, and the sight of it, the sound of it, did something to Agni that he liked, and at the same time didn't.

It gave him butterflies.

And as he said goodbyes to Ciel, and watched him cross the rain-soaked lawn to his cab clutching a container of  _dal makhani_ in his lovely hands, he realised a fourth thing. It happened when the boy turned, and waved, and gave a smile that only fed the winged beasts in the older man's gut.

Agni was fucked.

He was so, _so_ fucked.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Agni didn’t bother to knock.

The balcony door to Sebastian’s bedroom was open a fraction, a cool breeze fluttering the curtains. It smelt like rain outside, and something that had the hockey player’s nose twitched. He nudged open the door and found his best friend, leftovers in one hand, cigarette in the other.

“Thought you quit,” Agni said, watching as Sebastian glanced sideways to stare at him. The Italian narrowed his eyes, taking an extra long draw just to prove a point.

“Mature,” Agni muttered, grabbing the cigarette out of his hand and crushing it into the ashtray on the balcony ledge. Sebastian sat up to grab another but Agni shoved him back into the wall, fisting his hand into the fabric of his top. Sebastian hit the wall with an _oof_ , hair untucking itself from his messy bun.

“Why'd you do that to Ciel?” Agni hissed, flexing his arm to keep his best friend in place. The Italian was two inches shorter than him, and it allowed the man to glare petulantly up through his eyelashes at the taller man.

“Let me go,” Sebastian hissed, his eyes narrowed. He shoved Agni’s chest but the man didn’t budge, only grunted between his teeth as he fought to keep the man in place.

“You _shoved_ him.”

Sebastian’s cheeks darkened and he blinked over Agni’s shoulder and at the rainy backyard.

“Just a little bit,” he muttered, refusing to look up. Agni felt sick to his stomach, studying his best friend’s face for some sign of remorse. He found it in the angry tears that welled up in carmine eyes, his eyelashes blinking furiously to keep them at bay. Still, he couldn't shake Ciel's tear-stained face from his memory.

“Just a _little_ bit?” He repeated back, throat tight. “He’s barely five feet tall, Bastian. You could have hurt him.”

Sebastian made a sound at that, surging forward to try push past Agni’s grip. The taller man gripped him tighter, shoving his shoulders to the damp walls of the house. Agni could feel Sebastian’s heart pounding, chest heaving, and if he weren’t so angry he could admit Sebastian looked good pinned between him and the wall.

“He kissed Charles,” Sebastian spat, his voice faltering on the last syllable. The sound made him pitiful, and his face crumpled. Agni felt unwelcome fondness bubble up in his stomach, and he grit his teeth lest he be consumed by it.

“So what?" Agni spat. "He doesn’t belong to you."

Sebastian's eyes flashed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means he’s not a _thing_ ,” Agni said. He cleared his throat. “Ciel isn’t a possession. He isn’t even your boyfriend, so don’t expect him to act like he is just because you can’t work up the courage to ask him out.”

For a moment it fell so silent that Agni can almost hear the implication that this conversation wasn’t entirely about Ciel. He swallowed to calm himself. He let go of Sebastian’s shirt, and when the man’s boots hit the ground he realised the Italian had been standing on his toes. He looked even shorter now, still staring up at him with a furious blush over his nose and cheeks.

“But he kissed me,” Sebastian said very softly. Something fragile inside Agni cracked, like the shell of an egg.

“And you jerked me off last night,” Agni said back, stitching the broken bit inside him back together before it blossomed into unrequited lust. Sebastian’s face fell. Agni watched his throat bob beneath the collar of his thin shirt.

“That’s different,” the Italian murmured. They never spoke about it sober. They never faced the shameful bluntness of the situation without a brain stuffed full of cotton and cheap beer. “It’s not like that with us.”

_Us._

Agni stared at Sebastian’s cheek. His upper lip. He even let his eyes flick down to the line of his collarbone, and the edges of his chest tattoo. He was standing close enough to taste the cigarette smoke left on his mouth. That, and his unquenchable urge to press the Italian to the wall again, made him scrunch his nose and tongue the inside of his cheek.

“I watched you pine over him for weeks,” Agni said. “I’m not going to let you fuck this up. Plus, he deserves better than this. You apologise to that boy, or I’ll tell Nonno what you did.”

It was a cheap shot, but it was the last thing the man had left in his arsenal. He needed Sebastian to go. He couldn’t keep him here any longer, giving him _that look_.

“You wouldn’t,” the Italian hissed, shaking his head in disbelief. Agni huffed. He leaned in until their noses almost touched, and he growled his last warning onto the damp of Sebastian’s lips.

“ _I would_ ,” he promised.

He watched Sebastian widen his eyes slightly, before returning to the perpetually moody dose of carmine he thought about entirely too often.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Salvatore eyed his grandson carefully.

His boy was the spitting image of him. Tall and broad, with a serious face and a strong nose. He was even covered in tattoos like his grandfather, and had hair just as thick and inky. He didn’t have as many grey hairs as his Nonno did, however. But the boy was identical to him, and it may have been that fact, or the fact that he had raised this boy from birth, that made it so easy for him to see when the young man was upset.

“You’re not eating,” Nonno said, watching Sebastian twirl pasta around on his plate. He didn’t look up, and in the dim, candlelit dining room, the old man could see the far away look in the boy’s eyes.

“Nonno,” he replied quietly. “My heart hurts.”

 _Ah_. The old man tried to hide his amused smile, tracing the edge of his whiskey glass with his thumb.

“What’s her name?” He said knowingly. Sebastian glanced up, jaw locked as he shook his head.

“ _His_ name,” he muttered.

Salvatore choked. He took a long, long, deep drink from his glass until his hand stopped shaking. He could feel his grandson burning holes into his head. His heart thud against his ribs and his cheeks burnt against his will. His grandson, his entire life, waited patiently for him to get over himself.

“So,” Nonno coughed, staring at the table. “What’s the boy’s problem?” He put down his glass a little too hard on the table. Sebastian stared at him, then resumed his half-hearted twirling of his pasta.

“I like him, and I thought he liked me,” his grandson sighed. “But I’m not sure anymore.” His shoulders fell in such a way that it made the old man’s heart hurt too.

“Is he blind?” Salvatore asked after a minute of silence. Sebastian lifted his head, narrowing his eyes.

“Nonno, not this again.”

“ _I said_ , is he blind?” Nonno said, firmer. Sebastian groaned, ducking his head to run his fingers through his hair.

“No papa, he isn’t blind.”

Salvatore clicked at his teeth. “Then he’s stupid, no?”

Sebastian stared at him, his jaw tense. He might have looked intimidating if his eyes weren’t so sad. “No papa,” he said again, quietly. “He’s perfect.”

Sebastian blushed the same way Benny, his grandmother, used to. His eyes were the same colour as her’s, bright and rust-coloured, and vicious. He wet his mouth and shook his head, sighing so hard it made the candle flame jump.

“Besides, I think I fucked things up.”

Nonno’s nose scrunched.

“Language,” he warned, pointing his finger in the boy’s direction. Sebastian’s shoulders slumped, throughly cowed. He pressed low to the table, a defeated man, and mouthed a soft and pitiful _sorry_.

“What do I always tell you?” Nonno said after some time, drumming his fingers on the table as his wedding ring caught the candle light. Sebastian shrugged, picking at the lace on the edge of the tablecloth.

“Don’t put my dick in crazy?” He guessed, just as Nonno took a drink of whiskey. He choked again, liquor spraying out against the glass.

“N-no,” he stuttered. “The other thing.”

Sebastian stared at his grandfather for some time, and eventually his mouth quirked up.

“ _Persistenza_ ,” he sighed. Nonno nodded proudly. Sebastian’s eyes were still dark, as if he weren’t entirely convinced of the tried-and-tested Michaelis method.

“I tried that,” he said, still lost in the depth of his own thoughts. “But I hurt him, papa. I don’t know if patience is enough this time.”

The sight of him genuinely made the old man ache, from his fingers to his heart. When he took another drink he savoured it, using the liquor on his tongue as an aid to coax the words his grandson needed to hear up into his mouth.

“And you told him how you feel, vita mia?”

And instantly his grandson’s face went from confused, to sheepish. His cheeks darkened and he turned his head, finding something fascinating to stare at on the wall.

“Ah,” Salvatore said into his whiskey, not disguising the smirk that sprung to his features. “So you haven’t tried everything, it seems.”

Sebastian mumbled something, but it could not wipe the grin off his grandfather’s face.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

 

 

Ciel didn't get many days off.

When he did, they were sacred. Small pockets of still, sublime relaxation amongst his busy, busy schedule. Like islands in the sea, and Ciel clung to them every time he washed up onto the shore of one, utterly exhausted and more than happy to lay on his back for a few hours, sip tea, and watch the world pass him by from the window of his too-large, too-modern apartment.

When the doorbell rung he was caught off guard. Wearing nothing but shorts and a large t-shirt, Ciel padded through the lounge fumbling lazily with his eyepatch, pulling it in place and combing his hair with his fingers because answering the door. He figured it was Alois. Or his coach, more than happy to drag him from his respite and back onto the ice.

He was utterly unprepared for Sebastian to be standing there instead, wearing his leather jacket, and a fresh bruise on his face.

"Hello," he said, eyes widening slightly as he looked Ciel up and down. The boy had bruises all over his knees, and his hair looked like hell. His cheeks burnt the longer the hockey player stared, petrified in place as the man glanced to his thighs, then his throat, and lastly his face.

"Nice shorts," he added. 

"How do you know where I live?" Ciel blurted all in one breath, still stuck in place. He wanted to tug down his shirt, try cover the last of his dignity, to crawl back into bed and pretend Sebastian wasn't here - the man who'd pushed him, and _hurt_ him, and... and...

"I gave your friend Bard's number for your address," Sebastian admitted. He looked down at Ciel's legs again, and swallowed visibly. Ciel noticed he was holding a cup of boba tea, condensation running over the back of his tattooed knuckles. When Ciel didn't say anything, he squeezed the plastic and it crinkled.

"I wanted to apologise," he said. "I bought apology tea."

He gestured at the boba with his sad eyes, face like a kicked dog. There were circles under his eyes, and his usually messy hair seemed messier than usual. Like he hadn't slept. Hadn't ate. Ciel might have felt bad for him under different circumstances. The butterflies in his stomach seemed blind to the situation.

"Apologise for what?" Ciel said, tasting fire in his voice. "For pushing me, or for saying you _never_ wanted to see me again?"

Sebastian's shoulders fell. He released a soft sound, and looked over Ciel's shoulder and into his apartment. He looked too handsome for a man with a mottled bruise on his face. Too pretty for someone that violent, eyes glaring and bright like the sun coming up over the city.

"For both," he breathed. " _God_ , Ciel. How could I never want to see you again?" He searched the figure skater's face, suddenly desperate. Ciel felt something literally tug at his heartstrings. He crossed his arms over his chest and hugged himself.

"I'm so sorry for hurting you," Sebastian continued. "I just wanted to apologise, I don't... _fuck_. I can't eat, Ciel."

Even his voice sounded raw. Every part of him was genuine. It ate away at Ciel's heart. It made his resolve crumble, and his frown soothe away, and the insects in his stomach take flight and make him quiver, make him chew his lip because Sebastian _moved_ him.

It didn't help that the man was dressed in leather.

"Drink the tea," Ciel blurted, his cheeks warm. Sebastian stared hard at his face, a little frown between his eyebrows.

"All of it?"

Ciel nodded, and leaned further into the doorframe. Sebastian considered him a moment, then ripped the plastic lid off the drink, and gulped it down all in one go. His face screwed up and he shook his head like he’d taken a shot of whiskey. He coughed, throat wet and syrupy.

“Satisfied?” He groaned, but his voice had too much edge to Ciel’s liking. Ciel shook his head, delighting in the way the man brisked up.

“Now eat the boba,” he demanded. Ciel gave Sebastian a cruel, lingering smile as the other's face turned to anger.

“Eat the boba, or go home.”

Sebastian stared at him like he wanted to shove him into the wall again. His jaw locked, teeth grit, so hard that for an instant Ciel thought he might leave. The almost-empty cup was twisted up in his fist, an inch of rubbery pearls in the bottom that Ciel inclined his head towards, raising one eyebrow as he waited. Sebastian made a low, pissed off sound.

Then he upended the tumbler and ate the boba too, his throat bobbing as he swallowed it down, nose scrunched up like he was eating a handful of dirt. Ciel stared at the thick column of his throat, feeling significantly less angry than before.

“Happy now?” Sebastian hissed, lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe his strawberry stained mouth. Ciel glanced down at his abs, the waistband of his black jeans.

"I guess," Ciel said back. Sebastian grunted, and fell oddly silent. He searched Ciel’s face and the figure skater wondered if he had nothing to say, or if he simply hadn’t anticipated getting this far into his apology.

“I didn’t want him to kiss me,” Ciel said first. It was true, and he shouldn’t have had to say it. But he met Sebastian halfway in fear that if he didn’t the man might just stare at him all day. It wasn’t the conversation to have in the open door of his apartment building. It wasn’t the type of conversation he wanted to have _inside_ his home, either.

“I pushed him away,” he continued. “You didn’t stick around long enough to see it, but I pushed him away.”

Sebastian crumpled the cup in his hand and looked down at the floor.

"I know," he admitted. "Everyone told me afterwards. I just got so mad."

"You have a problem with anger," Ciel said, not a question. The man nodded, cheeks pink, looking through his eyelashes in an uncharacteristically shy fashion.

Ciel wet his mouth to keep himself from smiling. Sebastian Michaelis, the baddest boy in sports - _blushing_ , as he stood, slightly hunched, in Ciel's doorframe. The sight was utterly endearing, and now the boy was aware of it, he could not keep his eyes off the very faint kiss of freckles against Sebastian's nose.

"Is that," Sebastian stared, and cleared his throat. "Is that a dealbreaker. For you...?"

Ciel glanced at his mouth next, stained with boba juice, and shiny with it. He hungered for another kiss, this time tasting like tapioca, and not his romance spaghetti. Sebastian glanced down at the shorter boy, a shade of humility in his carmine eyes, and a strand of hair fell loose from his fringe and dangled between his eyes.

"A dealbreaker?" Ciel repeated, heart jackhammering. He was too caught up in the softness of Sebastian's hair, the prettiness of his eyes, to properly form a response. Without thinking too deeply about it, he reached up and tucked the hair back so the man's face was visible again. Sebastian frowned, his lips a serious line.

"I know I'm punching above my weight Ciel," he said, his breath fanned out over the inside of the figure skater's wrist. "You're small, and beautiful, and talented, a-and I can't give you what Charles Grey can give you." He stopped, unblinking, studying the boy's face. He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes, as if the sight of Ciel unnerved him enough to loose his track of thought.

"I can't give you that," he grit between his teeth. "I'm rough and inelegant, and I... I've never been to the fucking Olympics." Another pause, and only the sound of Ciel's thumping heart. "But I can cook. I'm loyal, I'd never betray you, or lie to you. I'd give you _anything_ you wanted," Sebastian promised. "And I've got a big dick."

Ciel released a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

"Really?" He mouthed. Sebastian's eyes widened, then he nodded with earnest.

"Yeah, really. I checked, it's above average-"

Ciel shoved his hand over his mouth, muffling his words, and a smile finally broke out over his features. He smiled so hard it hurt, his heart crawling up into his throat.

"No, dumbass. What you said about punching above your weight. Did you mean that?"

Sebastian exhaled against the palm of Ciel's hand, warm and damp. He carefully removed the boy's hand, plucking it from his face with rough fingers. He didn't release it, admiring it with half-lidded eyes.

"Look at you," he murmured to the ring on Ciel's thumb. "You're perfect. I could never..." He trailed off, and when he glanced up he looked at Ciel as if he were water, and Sebastian had been stranded in the desert for six months without a single sip of it. 

Ciel felt stupidly happy. Like sunshine, unbridled energy in his heart that made his knees a little weaker, and his fingers curl affectionately into his palm so they brushed over the back of Sebastian's knuckles. The man was staring hopefully, sorrowfully, unabashedly down at Ciel like the figure skater held all the power to crush him, or to fulfil his every desire. The surge of importance had Ciel bite down on his lip, his voice tremor as he opened his mouth and blurted -

"Would you like to take me on a date?"

Sebastian's smile was worth it. He nodded, and the lock of hair fell back down between his eyes. All of him smiled. His eyes, and his body too. His skin seemed to brighten, the creases either side of his eyes only added to his handsomeness, and Ciel could see past the tattoos, and the bruises, and the intimidating stares to find a boy just as young, and stupid, and enamoured as he felt in that moment.

Ciel grinned too, and the man leaned down, lips brushing over the boy's, and laughed against them.

"On second thought," he whispered to Ciel's teeth, "We can't date. I can't be leaning down this far every time I want to kiss you. You're so small."

He was close enough that Ciel could watch his smile thin out into a smirk, knock the air from his lungs in an incredulous gasp. He reached up, balanced on his tip-toes (thank you, ballet lessons), and fisted his fingers into sun-warm, black hair. He tugged, just enough to coax a groan from the Italian's self-satisfied lips.

"There's people that find that sexy," Ciel whispered back, matter-of-factly. They were kissing, but not really. His lips nudged Sebastian's with every word. "It's a kink, for some men."

One of Sebastian's hands reached for his waist, his fingers curving easily around the meat of Ciel's hip. He squeezed. Not hard, not soft either. He stared down his nose at the boy in his grip and tilted his head, carefully appraising him like he were a dog, and Ciel were raw meat.

"Some men," Sebastian muttered, smirk gone. He pressed his thumb into Ciel's flesh, let it graze the peak of his hipbone, and glanced down to appreciate the sheer size of him on Ciel's petite waist. Ciel nodded like an idiot, letting his air out in increments.

"Do you, um," Ciel let the ends of their noses nudge together. "Do you find that sexy?" He asked. "That I'm short?"

Sebastian stared for a long time, frowning like it were a trick question. Like he might have to eat another cup of boba in case he said the wrong thing. His hand didn't leave Ciel's hip. In fact, it's brother came to join it, both hands cinching in the fabric of Ciel's sleep shorts like he might be able to encircle the young man's waist entirely.

Sebastian huffed, the smallest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He leaned in for a proper kiss, pressing their lips together. His mouth was slightly sticky, mouth warm and insistent. Before Ciel could open his lips and coax out the silver piercing he'd been _dreaming_ of all week, Sebastian pulled back with a smack, and gave the boy a coy grin.

"Of course not," he told Ciel. "I'm a gentleman."

He pressed Ciel back against his doorframe, his large hands keeping him in place, and then he distanced himself from the boy. Ciel was breathing heavy, his hands in suspended animation as the man appraised him, casting another long look down at his naked and bruised legs.

"See you at the rink tomorrow?" He told Ciel, and suddenly he was leaving, and the boy could only manage a weak nod, a childish wave of his fingers as the Italian turned and left his hallway, shoulders too broad in that dumb, dumb, _sexy_ jacket.

"Yeah," Ciel murmured, but Sebastian was gone.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on Tumblr! - It's bun-o-ween


	7. Paradise City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can't believe I updated 3 stories in 3 days... woo! Thanks for your support guys, I love you all :D

_Ciel Phantomhive._

_Twenty years old. America’s skating champion. More on page 9._

Ciel stared at the cover of the magazine. His photo took up the entire page, the sequins from his costume shopped to look twice as bright. A gleam was added to his gold medal, the sheen of sweat on his face warped to look handsome, and not earnest. Ciel pressed his tongue to his teeth, and flicked to page nine.

_One glance at Ciel Phantomhive, America's up-and-coming favourite for the competitive men’s skating season, would make anyone wonder “How does he do it?”_

_At only twenty years of age, Phantomhive has had an impressive history of firsts over the last few months, including obliterating previous champion_ Charles Grey's _infamous time record at last weeks competition in New York._

_“Time and effort,” Ciel tells me, when we caught up for a chat in his spectacular city-view apartment. “It all comes down to how badly I want it. Every day I wake up and ask myself if I’m willing to go the extra mile, if I’m willing to try and try again, even if I fail. I think that’s what sets me apart.”_

_He smiles when he says this, but the row of gold medals on the wall behind him confirms what he says. Beside the medals, his apartment is tastefully bare – aside from a small photograph on the wall next to his wins. It’s a photograph of himself and his twin brother, seemingly innocuous. They’re both smiling, eyes bright with possibility._

_Of course, we can never forget the fateful accident that claimed the lives of Ciel Phantomhive's entire family in the late 90s. Phantomhive is notoriously tight-lipped on the subject, and would not give me –_

Ciel flipped the page, already knowing what he would see.

Beneath the next paragraph was a photo.

The photo.

The one that had haunted him for years. The photo that was taken on the day of the crash – his little body slung over the shoulder of a firefighter, screaming, blood on his baby-sized fingers.

Children at his school had bullied him incessantly. He'd even found it printed out, stuffed into his locker in his senior years before he'd dropped out to skate full-time. It was an image he saw when he closed his eyes. One that robbed him of his next breath. One that -

His phone rung, breaking him out of the destructive cycle of self-pity.

“You’re on the cover of Sports Illustrated,” Sebastian said in lieu of a greeting, his voice deep against Ciel’s ear.

“So?” Ciel breathed, cheeks hot. “You were on it too once, right?”

Sebastian laughed down the receiver, the hairs on Ciel’s neck raised at the handsome noise.

“Like you _don’t_ remember,” he teased. Ciel remembered. Every one remembered. The infamous cover in which Sebastian Michaelis posed almost completely naked, nothing but his helmet to cover himself up.

“I’ll sign a copy of it for you sometime,” Sebastian added, laughing. “If you’re a good boy.”

Ciel ignored the way his stomach coiled, and flipped the magazine shut on his finger.

“Did you even read the article?”

“Yes,” Sebastian hummed. “I’m currently cutting out all the little pictures of your face and pasting them into a collage.”

Against Ciel’s better judgement, he laughed.

“Shut up,” he said, wetting his mouth. He opened the magazine again. “Not all the photos, I hope.”

Ciel opened the magazine and looked at it again.

“It must bother you,” Sebastian mentioned. Ciel nodded against the glass of his phone, still staring down at it. His chest felt tight. The skin under his eyepatch throbbed in memory of the accident.

“I hate it.”

Sebastian cleared his throat.

“You know I was watching you that day?” He said. “On the news, it was the day of my Nonna's funeral.”

Ciel didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing. He closed the magazine for good and laid down, cheek against the pillow as he listened to the Italian take a deep breath.

“I remember looking at that little boy and thinking… _One day_ , I'm going to take him out to dinner.”

Once again, Ciel laughed so hard he almost sobbed.

“You fucking asshole!” He cried, rolling onto his back as he smiled so wide it hurt. “Are you serious right now?”

“Very,” Sebastian murmured, but Ciel could hear the smile on his voice. His stomach flipped again, made him clench the bedsheets in an effort to calm down, not to lose himself too quickly to this man he barely knew.

“The reason I called though,” Sebastian interrupted, rustling around on the other side of the phone. “You need to dress nice for the place I'm taking you.”

Ciel snorted. “Who do you think you’re speaking to? I always dress nice.”

“No, seriously. This place is something else, _gattino_. You can’t get away with just anything.”

“What should I wear?” Ciel asked, heart fluttering.

“How about that strappy number from the other night?” Sebastian requested. “The one without the back on it.”

Ciel swallowed.

“Okay,” he confirmed very softly. Sebastian made a pleased sound, and it did something funny to Ciel’s gut.

 _Good boy_.

“What are you going to wear?”

“A suit,” Sebastian replied. Ciel laughed again.

“Fuck off.”

“I am,” the man pushed, and Ciel suddenly became very nervous imagining it. His silence must have spoke volumes, Sebastian chuckled again and his voice dropped down an octave.

“I’ll see you tonight baby,” he murmured against the receiver, making Ciel lose another piece of his mind.

“Don’t call me that,” he said weakly. Sebastian huffed.

“Okay, baby.”

Then he hung up, and Ciel fell back onto his bed with a famished sigh.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

He really did wear a suit.

Not a cheap one either. The type that Ciel knew were bespoke, and disgustingly expensive. The type that made his mouth dry as his eye befell the man, dismounting his all-black motorcycle and pulling the helmet from his head. A few locks of hair fell against his cheek, surprisingly long. The rest was slicked back, and he had no business looking as handsome as he did in that single moment.

Ciel couldn’t speak.

The bruise on Sebastian’s cheek was gone, as if he'd gone to the effort of concealing it. His tie was as ink black as his jacket, shoes shined and glossier than the bike. His tattooed showed on the back of his hands, but the nail polish was gone. He looked every part the perfect gentleman, high-class and glossed over.

He looked like a man who meant business. He looked like a prince.

“Hello,” Sebastian grinned, tucking back the last piece of his hair. He reached out for Ciel’s hand, and he offered it, a slave to the devastating smile on the man’s mouth. The streetlight fell just right on him. The rain landed on his hand as it was taken to Sebastian’s mouth, and kissed.

“Hi,” Ciel whispered back. Sebastian passed a second helmet to the figure skater, then he also draped his leather jacket possessively across his shoulders.

“You ready to go?” The taller man asked, and ducked down to smack a kiss on the boy's mouth. Ciel breathed it in, knees going a little weak as the hand on his ribs squeezed. He forced himself to nod.

He’d never been on a bike before, but if he had Ciel doubted it would have been less intimidating than the _beast_ Sebastian drove here on. His shoes didn’t even brush the ground as he got on the back behind the Italian. His thighs were spread wide over each thick, glossy side.

“Where do I put my hands?” He asked, steeling his voice so he didn’t sound afraid. Sebastian reached back for his hands and tugged them around his waist.

“Here.”

Ciel curled his fingers into expensive fabric, clutching onto the first thing he touched. He was shaking, cheek crushed between the helmet and Sebastian's back. He listened to his breath hitch as Ciel’s fingers grasped at something hot through his trousers.

“You can hold me there if you like kitten,” he said, voice rough, “but it’s only our first date.”

Ciel blinked. “What?”

He spread his fingers again and this time he felt the shape of it. The warm, firm flesh under his touch, under the fabric of pressed trousers. Sebastian exhaled through his nose, shifting on the seat of the bike.

“That’s my cock, baby.”

His voice caught as he said it.

Ciel jerked his hand back like he'd burnt it, face a million times hotter inside the helmet. He tried to stutter an apology around his thick tongue, but it was cut short by the violent roar of the engine between his legs, Sebastian’s body shifting hard as he stomped down on the kick start and the metal shook to life.

“Hold on,” he yelled, waiting until the arms around him tightened in a circle on his waist. The last thing Ciel saw was the smirk through Sebastian’s visor, and then his stomach was jerked out of his mouth, and they were zipping out onto the street, the world a blur of colour and streetlights.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel looked like a million dollars.

He was dressed almost the same as the night he'd come to his house party, strapped backless shirt and skinny jeans. Except this time the shirt was dusk pink, a pretty blush colour that matched the milkiness of his skin and the hue of his mouth. He wanted to kiss him. To dip his tongue between his teeth and see what brand toothpaste the skater used.

“The movies?”

Ciel’s hair stuck up at the back when he removed his helmet. Despite it, he looked ethereal. Sebastian wondered how many hours he spent before the date getting his skin to glow like that, or if it were simply his perfect biology.

“I thought you were taking me some place fancy.”

The Italian’s heart skipped as Ciel turned to look at him, eyes illuminated by the big, brassy cinema lights above. He raised an eyebrow at the Italian, corner of his mouth flirting with a smile.

“No,” Sebastian huffed. “I said the place was something else.”

The theatre was only several blocks from the house Sebastian had grown up in. While it were a pretty part of the city, the cinema herself had seen better days. All the red was faded from the outside, and a few of the bulbs had burst and never been replaced. A few letters were missing from the billboard too.

Ciel made a pretty noise, a laugh.

“You idiot,” he grinned, shoving Sebastian’s shoulder. “I hate fancy anyway.”

Sebastian mentally praised Alois Trancy for the tip. He'd been 100% prepared to buy Ciel a diamond-encrusted lobster, and get him drunk on a bottle of wine that cost more than his bike did.

“Honestly?” Sebastian said, stepping in close to put his hand on the small of Ciel’s back. He let him, staring gamely at the Italian. “I just wanted to see you in this shirt again.”

He pressed his fingers against warm skin, pleased to find the dimples at the base of the boy's skin. His fingertips fit perfectly in place, like his body had been designed for Sebastian’s every whim.

“Oh,” Ciel mouthed, and the Italian swore he trembled at the sound. “And why did you wear a suit?”

 _To impress you_ , Sebastian said to himself.

“Thought it might get me lucky later on,” he replied, half-honest. Ciel drew in a breath, and then screwed up his face. The effect was lost due to the fact that he was blushing.

“Is that so,” Ciel said, cheeks pink like his top. His blush went down to his throat, perhaps lower. Sebastian followed it, slowly nodding his head.

“I don’t care about the movie,” Sebastian admitted. “I don’t even know what’s showing. I just wanted to take you somewhere away from the cameras.”

Ciel leaned in, his eyelashes lowered. “Thank you.”

“Also, I’ve always wanted to make out with someone in an empty cinema.”

Ciel’s smile broke out against his mouth, and his laugh tasted sweet and minty. He curled his small fingers around Sebastian’s hand, and shot him a look up through long, dark lashes.

“Sounds like a date,” the boy grinned. Sebastian pressed his tongue into his cheek to stop himself spontaneously combusting on the sidewalk.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Jaws was playing.

Ciel only saw the first few minutes of the film before Sebastian pretended to yawn and slung an arm over his shoulders. Ciel tried to roll his eye, but at that moment he was done for.

The twenty-year-old wondered if he would ever get used to the metal bar pierced through Sebastian’s tongue. It hit his teeth with a clack, slipped over his lip, and Ciel accepted it with an airy moan. He tugged the bar into his mouth and sucked, fingers tightening on the arms of Sebastian’s jacket.

The man kissed filthy.

He dropped his jaw and tilted his head to eat off of Ciel’s mouth, his fingers twisted in the back of his hair. All his breath came hot and heavy from his nose, the end pressed and bent into Ciel’s cheek. When the boy opened his eye the man was staring back, lashes half-lidded, tongue down his throat.

Someone on screen screamed as their mouths broke apart. It echoed in the empty auditorium, a chorus of cello and thrashing water, and warbled yelling through a megaphone.

Ciel struggled to catch his breath, staring hard into Sebastian’s black, black pupils, not even a little tempted to turn and see the commotion.

“Is this everything you thought it would be?” Ciel whispered, their noses still touching. “Making out in the cinema?”

“It's the best,” Sebastian grinned shamelessly, still stunned from the kiss. “Wanted to do that since I was like, fourteen.”

Ciel bit his lip to stifle his smile. His fingers played with the bun on Sebastian’s nape, tempted to pull it loose so he could twist his fingers in it.

 _Keep it cool_ , he reminded himself. _Calm. Sexy. It’s only the first date_.

“So you grew up around here?” Ciel said a little louder, clearing his throat. Neither of them let go of each other. Sebastian’s hand had found a home on the meat of Ciel’s hip.

“Yeah,” he nodded. Ciel watched his piercing flash in the film light as he wet his mouth. “Me and my Nonno, just a few blocks away.” He stared off to the side, and smiled. “My first rink is actually just around the corner.”

Ciel grinned. “You must be a local hero.”

Sebastian raised his eyebrow and snorted.

“Local terror,” he corrected. “My coach hated me because I was always getting into fights.”

Ciel moved his hand from Sebastian’s head down to his cheek, then over the bridge of his nose. If he looked carefully, very closely, he could tell that it had been broken at least once before.

“You? _Really?_ ” The boy faked a gasp. “But you’re so mild-mannered.”

Sebastian’s chest rumbled as he laughed, catching Ciel’s wrist to plant a kiss there. When he pulled back his face had sobered, and he cast Ciel a serious look.

“Look, about the other day.”

Ciel pressed his lips together.

“I shouldn’t have done what I did,” the Italian reasoned, voice rough with guilt. “My last girlfriend, she cheated on me very publicly. I guess it struck a nerve.”

Ciel couldn’t swallow. Sebastian didn’t raise his eyes, exhaling over Ciel’s hand.

“What happened, Bastian?”

The man looked up at the sound of his nickname, something hopeful flickering across his face the same way the silver screen lit up their profiles.

“She wanted me to choose between her and my family. Nonno, and the boys. I told her that I couldn’t choose. That I didn’t understand why I couldn’t have both.”

Ciel couldn’t hide the disgusted curl of his lip, even in the dark. Sebastian examined it, his chest still rising and falling from the kissing, still holding Ciel’s hand close to his heart. Ciel felt the _thud_ , _thud_ , _thud_ of it against his knuckles.

“You know, I’ve always wanted a family,” he found himself admitting.

“Really, gattino?” Sebastian said with a tilt of his head.

“Not like,” Ciel shuddered, “ _kids_ and stuff. But I… When I was at your's the other day and could hear every one laughing in the lounge? I mean it was loud and sort of annoying but… I was jealous of it.”

Sebastian pressed another kiss to his fingers, eyelashes ticking the skin.

“You’re lonely, baby?”

Ciel took a deep breath and nodded. _Yes, he was incredibly lonely_.

It was the most Ciel had ever exposed of himself. Considering he lived his life constantly in the public’s view, that meant a lot to him. He felt as though he’d just peeled back a piece of his skin and let Sebastian peek inside him.

He didn’t laugh. He didn’t tease him. Sebastian tilted back his head instead, and kissed him.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel couldn't shut up.

Not that Sebastian was complaining - the noise did wonders for his confidence. Every time he placed his hands on Ciel the boy would shudder, and release sticky sweet sighs, and choked off little moans. He was especially loud when the Italian sucked kisses into his throat. Even louder when he reached down and cupped the ass of his dreams in his palm.

He squeezed, and Ciel whimpered.

An honest to god whimper. His pretty face was flush with blood, mouth open and lips bruised red. He kissed like he spoke - demure at first, but filthy the longer Sebastian teased him. The skater’s fingers wound up in Sebastian’s hair, tangled in the inky strands like he wanted to knot himself up in it forever.

Sebastian broke off his throat with a smack, gripping Ciel’s tight little ass again.

“You’re noisy,” he groaned, pressing their noses together. The boy shot him a look, his pretty mouth downturned and panting, contradicting what he said. His fingers had found their way under the man’s jacket, playing not-so-coyly with the swell of his pectoral muscles.

“I’m not,” Ciel lied, his voice wrecked just from kissing. It made Sebastian bite his cheek, duck his head down again to flatten his tongue to his neck and draw it up in one hot, wet line. Ciel tugged his hair and he mewled like a kitten, sound going straight to the man’s dick.

Sebastian grunted as his hips hit the divider between them. He curled his fingers into the silk of Ciel’s shirt and tugged, trying to coax him across the plastic arm rest.

“Come sit on my lap,” he begged, trembling in effort not to just pick Ciel up and sit him down on his erection. Ciel shot him a look, hair like moon dust in the flickering light.

“This is a public cinema,” he hissed. Like that meant something. He wet his lips, petal pink tongue only adding to the sheen of his damp mouth. Sebastian hooked two fingers into his jean loops and pulled again.

“Not gonna do anything bad,” he promised Ciel, a blatant lie. There was a lot of shuffling but Ciel gave in, let the Italian manhandle him over the divider until his knees were either side of his lap, and both hands were doing their absolute most to map out every inch of Sebastian’s biceps.

“Just wanna, _uh_. Fuck.”

Sebastian’s hips jerked up as he tugged Ciel down on them, fingers tightening in lilac hair. A gum-scented breath hit his tongue, curved nose nudged his cheek as Ciel constricted, arms wrapped tight around the Italian’s neck like a sexy little viper, twin moan knocked out of his throat.

It was the first time Sebastian had ever had a dick pressed up against him, but he knew instantly that he loved it. Ciel’s thighs spread in urgency, his cock pressing into the place below Sebastian’s navel, covered by too much fabric for the man to get a decent touch. The heat of it seeped through his shirt, and Ciel’s high-pitched, breathy whimpers were already better than most sex the Italian ever had.

“Been a while, baby?” Sebastian groaned, rocking his hips up into Ciel's. The boy nodded vehemently, chewing his lip. It made the hockey player wonder how long the boy had gone without being touched like this. It made him spread his legs a little wider, and smack the tight muscle of Ciel’s ass as it rode back and forth on his thigh.

“God you feel good on my cock,” Sebastian muttered in his ear, curling his fingers into Ciel’s leg. It was crude, but he meant it. Ciel felt like heaven, his blood-warm cock fucking up against his zipper, his hand absentmindedly tugging the Italian's hair.

Ciel shook, a full body ripple down his spine and to his thighs.

“I want you to fuck me so bad,” Ciel groaned, mouth a breath away from Sebastian’s.

The admission knocked the air from Sebastian’s lungs. It made Ciel go rigid in his arms. For a second all he could hear was his own heart, and police chief Martin Brody's anxious voice on the screen.

“ _Oh_ ,” Ciel blurted, shoving his hand over his mouth. His eye was comically large, silhouette lit up by the movie behind him. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

Sebastian blinked, all his brain blood in his dick.

“I wanna fuck you too,” he said, intelligently. He took a deep breath. “But not on our first date. Not in a cinema with popcorn crushed up in your hair.”

Ciel’s fingers went instantly to his hair.

“It’s not -” His face fell when his hand came back clean, and he shoved his fist against the Italian’s chest. “I didn’t mean it, Bastian. I’d never say something like that on our first date. It just… fell out.”

He sounded pathetically desperate and it made Sebastian grin. He ran his palms up Ciel’s thighs, around the back of his legs. He cupped his ass, both cheeks fitting easily in his palms. He gave them a little squeeze, running his tongue over his teeth.

“You deserve so much better,” he cooed, laying it on thick. “Like the back seat of a Cadillac.”

“Shut up.”

“Or on a beach,” Sebastian continued, “Under the stars. Maybe behind the bleachers after prom?”

Ciel smacked his chest, laughing so loud it filled the cinema.

“You give me so much secondhand embarrassment,” the boy giggled, refusing to look at him. His smile was the most gorgeous thing the man had seen, and he felt something sweet and tender join the arousal in his gut.

“You’re really sexy when you laugh,” he told the twenty-year-old.

Ciel grinned again, making Sebastian and his dick very happy.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

“Just coffee,” Ciel warned, jamming his key into the door.

The fluffy pom-pom on the end of his keys jiggled as he clicked his apartment open. Sebastian kneaded his hips from behind, pressed so hard to Ciel’s back that he could feel the interested nudge of his dick against the bare skin on his spine.

“Just coffee,” the Italian promised, leaning down to suck a bruising kiss to Ciel’s nape.

The door swung open as Ciel's blood turned to magma. His eyelid fluttered. He struggled to remember his morals, his convictions. He tried towrite a mental list on all the reasons why he didn’t want to lose his virginity on his kitchen counter – but came up short.

“I make the best coffee,” Sebastian muttered into his hair. Ciel couldn’t tell if he were bragging, or flirting. He nodded dumbly, melting into rough, insistent hands.

“Yeah I bet,” he sighed, wrapping fingers around the man’s wrists. He pulled them up before his palms could slip under Ciel’s shirt, and smacked a kiss to the centre of each hand. Sebastian’s cologne clung to the cuff of his shirt, and it made Ciel’s knees unlock.

“No sex,” he said with his eyes closed. “Only coffee.”

He wasn’t sure if he were reminding Sebastian of this, or himself.

Sebastian made a noise against the back of Ciel’s hair, halfway between agony and amusement. He came down to rest his chin in the crux of Ciel’s shoulder, staring out at the multi-million-dollar view of the city from the boy's living room.

At the same time they exhaled.

“Nice view,” Sebastian commented, arms wrapping around Ciel’s chest.

The twenty-year-old turned his head to appraise the man. His cheekbones. His desert-coloured eyes. The serious expression, even as he gazed at the skyline, seemingly content.

“Yeah,” Ciel said, hopelessly smitten.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

“Are you going through my fridge?”

Ciel’s voice echoed up the hall over the sound of the boiling jug. Sebastian looked up from the jar of hummus in his hand, shoulders tense.

“No,” he lied, placing the jar back on the shelf.

There was not much else of value inside the fridge – some brocollini stalks, half a capsicum wrapped in foil. Fruit, a bottle of pink-coloured tea, and a Tupperware container. Sebastian had half a mind to leave and come back with as many groceries as he could balance on Juliet's handlebars.

 _Don’t ruin your first date_ , Sebastian reminded himself.

He plucked up a jar of expired crushed garlic, sniffing at the lid. He screwed up his face and threw the jar in the bin.

He couldn’t figure out what was in the Tupperware container though, and it seemed so out of place from the rest of the kitchen. The lack of cookware, the spotless sink, it all implied Ciel didn’t cook at home.

Sebastian leaned out to look down the hall to make sure Ciel was still undressing. There was no sign of the boy, the door to his bedroom closed. Sebastian snatched up the Tupperware and cracked the lid, bringing it up to his nose.

The smell hit him in his stomach.

He stared at the contents to make sure, and even in the pale glow of the double-door refrigerator, Sebastian couldn’t have been more certain of what was inside.

Agni's _dal makhani_.

The padding of bare feet down the hall had the Italian stuffing the curry back inside the fridge and slamming it shut. When Ciel rounded the corner he was wearing a coy smile, glancing at Sebastian’s hand where it was still pressed against the fridge door.

“Liar,” Ciel said, mouth curling up. He brushed past the Italian, smelling faintly of baby powder. He wore a loose, mustard sweater, draped prettily over his slender shoulders, and the same shorts from the other day. His dainty knees were still bruised, and Sebastian found himself staring again, strange feeling settling inside of him.

“Now,” Ciel announced, turning towards Sebastian so his face was lit up by the light from the city. “Didn’t you say something about making me the world’s best cup of coffee?”

The tone to his voice tugged Sebastian out of his reverie enough to smile back, dropping his hand from the fridge.

“You’ve got it baby,” he promised, savouring the way Ciel’s teeth showed when he grinned.

But he couldn’t quite shake the heavy feeling in his gut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on Tumblr: bun-o-ween


	8. Under Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No Ciel in this chapter, this chapter is 100% pure unadulterated bromantic tension between Agni and his best bud Bastian.

Agni was sixteen the day he met Sebastian.

He was sitting in the school cafeteria, all alone. No one ever sat near him, and no one ever spoke to him. They would sit in wide circles and stare at him instead, giggling and whispering behind their hands.

They pretended to gag when Agni pulled his lunch from his backpack and opened his homemade vegetable biryani.

He never paid them any notice. He had his book to keep him company, open on the table while he ate with his other hand. The murmuring of the students came second place to the taste of fragrant rice. He hummed around his fork, reached up and tucked back a strand of long, white hair - the length of which brushed his collarbone.

A hard thump from him from the spell his book weaved.

Startled, he whipped around the bottom of his stomach gave way when he looked up to see Lew Fisher and his friends crowded around his lonely lunch table.

“Hey faggot,” sneered Lew. “The fuck is that?”

Agni's mouth ran dry. Lew reached over and examined his lunch, dropping it on the table so hard the rice spilled out and rolled across the surface.

“It's biryani,” he said, eyes lowered to the faded cuffs of Lew's jeans.

One of his friends snorted. Lew screwed up his face and crouched down to meet Agni's timid gaze.

“You’re in America,” he said. “Eat _American_ food - or go the fuck back to wherever you came from.”

Agni turned his head and scanned the room for a teacher, but a sharp yank to his hair turned him back. He could feel the eyes of the other students, his skin crawling as they stared but said nothing.

“Are you listening to me, faggot?” Another tug, and Agni pressed his lips together so he wouldn’t cry. “Eat this fucking burger, or go home.”

Agni looked up at the crinkling of paper, the miasma of melted cheese and onions shoved up against his cheek. Cheese glued to his hair and smeared under his eye. He winced and pulled away, only for the fist in his hair to tighten – and the burger to press, sloppy and lukewarm, to his cheek.

“No,” he said, as strong as he could manage.

Another tug to his hair. The squelch of meat as it dripped a greasy line down his jaw and into his collar.

“Eat it,” Lew hissed, still crouched down so he could look the sixteen-year-old in the eye as he pulled his hair so hard his eyes watered.

“I don’t eat meat,” he begged, finally giving in and sobbing when the burger crowded against his lips.

“That’s not what I’ve heard,” snickered one of Lew's friends. “Every one knows the immigrant fag _loves_ meat.”

The runny remnants of the half-eaten burger filled his mouth and he gagged, thrashing against the grip in his hair and the overwhelming urge to cry. A hot tear slipped down his cheek as his teeth clenched, the mess of lettuce and cheese and ground beef sitting on his tongue, refusing to swallow.

“Hey, Lewis.”

The hand in his hair loosened enough for Agni to jerk backwards and spit the burger out onto the floor. He saw a blur of black, the squeak of rubber against the cafeteria floor, and then –

 _Crack_.

A spray of blood hit the tiles and the room turned to chaos. Students jumped to their feet and screamed when Lew Fisher went down on his back, his face beat in by none other than Sebastian Michaelis.

Agni knew who Sebastian was. _Everyone_ did. He was the baddest boy in school, and in Agni’s opinion, the hottest. He spoke to no one, went everywhere alone, and somehow that made him all the cooler. He also had an infamous reputation for violence.

And in that moment he was a blur of black jeans and leather, a scramble of long legs and a curled fist, the sick _smack_ , _smack_ , _smack_ of punches landing on Lew's howling face.

Agni's heart thudded louder than the roar of students, so loud that when Sebastian finally stood and spoke to him it took a second for the ringing to leave his ears.

“Huh?”

Sebastian had a line of blood running from his nose to chin. He smiled and it caught on his lip, made his teeth shine pink.

“I said, are you alright?”

His hair was messy from the fight, the thick locks sticking up in several sprouts like a tuft of grass. He had an undercut beneath it all, and now Agni stood up close to him he could see his ear was pierced.

“Y-yeah,” Agni stammered.

He could feel cheese cooling on his face, a clump of his own hair stuck to it. Sebastian’s eyes flicked towards the mess and Agni’s cheeks burned. He could not have felt more ugly, burger grease staining his shirt, as his high-school crush took a step towards him.

“You have cheese in your hair,” Sebastian said.

His knuckles brushed over Agni’s cheek as he smoothed his hair back and thumbed the substance off his skin. Agni opened his mouth to stutter out another reply when Sebastian was shoved sideways and out of his sight.

His body hit the floor with a smack, and Lew Fisher crawled on top of him with renewed vigour. Blood dripped from his nose onto Sebastian’s face, which morphed from stunned to furious. Agni stumbled back as a mess of arms and torsos surged forward, the students flocking in droves to cheer on a fight Agni could not longer see.

By the time the teachers broke the fight up Agni had already left, rubbing anxious tears out of his eyes, and the cheese out of his hair.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Agni had a sanctuary.

A crooked tree behind the science block, stooped so low to the earth that once he crawled beneath it he was shielded from the world. He went there when his hair was clean, and the rest of the school was in their final class for the day.

He hated skipping class. His parents had worked so hard to afford to send him to America, and the thought of wasting his schooling left a bad taste in his mouth. But today was an exception, and to avoid the scorning eyes of teenagers, and the pitying of the teachers, he crawled under the tree to hide.

But the sanctuary was already occupied.

“Hey,” Sebastian said, eyes wide.

He had a cigarette in one hand, a lighter in the other. More starling was the bruise that covered his cheek, and the dried blood stuck to his lip, his nose, and eyebrow.

“You’re Arshad, right?”

Agni cleared his throat and sat down across from the boy who’d saved him.

“Just Agni,” he corrected.

Sebastian mouthed out his name, the dried blood on his cheek cracking as his lips curled up into a smile.

“I’m Sebastian.”

“I know,” Agni blurted, and his entire body flushed with heat. “I mean, um. T-thank you. For what you did.”

Sebastian shrugged, and then gave him that devilish smile again. The one that made Agni’s chest feel like a bee hive. He pocketed his lighter and put the smoke behind his ear, eyes falling to the container of biryani Agni clutched in his hands.

“You gonna eat that?”

Agni looked down at the container and frowned.

“You want it?” He asked, incredulous.

Sebastian nodded, sitting up and taking the container from Agni. He popped the lid and shovelled it out on the fork, stuffing his mouth as full as possible.

“I’m starving,” he slurred around the rice, and then closed his eyes and groaned. “Fuck. This is so fucking good. Who made this?”

The sound made Agni’s cheeks burn, his heart skip a beat.

“I did,” he murmured.

He struggled not to smile when Sebastian’s eyes widened again.

“Bullshit!” He swore, a grain of rice sticking to his chin. “Man, my Nonno would _love_ this.”

Sebastian had no grievances about talking with his mouthful. As he finished the biryani he told Agni about his family, his grandparents who raised him when both his parents walked out the day he was born. In return Agni told him about his family back home, the siblings and cousins he had not seen in over a year.

They talked until the last bell rang, and when they crawled out from under the hidden tree Agni followed Sebastian to the car bay, mouth closed and eyes wide as the boy waxed lyrical about his Nonno's special pasta.

Then a woman pulled up in an ox-blood Jeep Cherokee. She was an older woman, but her jet black hair and carmine eyes lit up her attractive face. She grinned just like her grandson, lips the same colour as her car.

“This is my Nonna,” Sebastian smiled.

The woman leaned out the driver’s window and narrowed her eyes at the blood on Sebastian’s face. She raised one eyebrow at him, then turned her attention to Agni, her expression instantly charismatic.

“You can call me Benny,” she trilled in a thick Italian accent.

“Nonna, this is Agni.”

Benny smiled wider still, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she gave him a once over.

“Agni,” she said, his name funny in her accent. “We’re having risotto for dinner tonight, would you like to join us?”

Agni hugged his arms around his waist and nodded. “I'd love to.”

Sebastian and Nonna both grinned so wide and wicked Agni almost doubled over and passed out. The taller boy nudged him towards the Jeep, already swinging a familiar arm around his shoulder.

“You've never had _anything_ like my Nonno's risotto,” Sebastian promised. “It's the best.”

He pressed his fingers to his lips and kissed them. Agni snorted, then laughed. He covered his mouth as his mouth stretched into a grin, the largest he had smiled since coming to America.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

When Agni walked into the Michaelis’s home one thing became quickly obvious.

Sebastian might have been the coolest boy at school, but he was not the coolest member of his household. Agni’s eyes widened when they stepped into the kitchen and Sebastian’s grandfather looked up from his chopping board.

He was the splitting image of Sebastian, but even taller. Broad shoulders, thick-lined tattoos on both forearms, his dark skin cut off where his shirt was rolled beneath his biceps. His hair was dark like Benny's, his eyes bright and black.

He dusted his palm on his apron and when he shook Agni's hand his fingers wrapped easily around the teenager’s fist. He shook his hand so hard the boy winced.

“Ah!” He exclaimed, voice low and rumbling. “You must be the reason for the call from the school today, no?”

Agni felt all the blood from his heart settle in his face. The older man grinned, put his hand on either boy's shoulders and gave another crippling squeeze.

“That was very admirable,” he said to Sebastian in a quiet hush. “If anyone messes with my boy or his friends again, you let me know okay?”

He took his hand off Agni’s shoulder to make a slicing gesture across his own throat.

Benny noticed and she yelled at him in a language Agni didn’t understand, rushing over in her heels to smack the back of Nonno's head. They started arguing, all hands and rolling syllables, and while Agni would have been happy to watch, Sebastian wrapped his fingers around his wrist and dragged him upstairs to his bedroom.

“Sorry,” he said. “My Nonno thinks he’s ex-mafia or some shit.”

Sebastian’s bedroom was covered floor to ceiling in posters of bands Agni had never heard of. He hesitated, stopped to look at faded and dog-earred images of men with mass amounts of blonde, crimped hair and bandanas around their heads.

Sebastian fell backwards onto his bed and groaned, no doubt feeling the full weight of the fight he'd gotten into earlier.

Agni picked through Sebastian's records with delight. All the students had CDs but Sebastian, like his family back home, had vinyl. Beside the record player was a hockey stick, and Agni picked that up and examined it too.

“It was Nonna’s idea,” Sebastian explained, sitting up on his elbows. “To curb my aggression.”

He made a face and both boys laughed. Agni smoothed his hand over the tape wrapped around the handle.

“I always wanted to be good at sport,” he said without thinking.

Sebastian shrugged again, ruffling his fingers through his hair so it stuck up straight.

“How do you know you’re not?”

Agni wanted to say something intelligent. Something about how he was wired to be good at things like art, and English. But the naive, hopeful smile on Sebastian’s still-bloody face made him so florid he was silent.

“You should come to a game,” Sebastian cut his thoughts short. “Try out for the team. We practice Saturdays. Nonna could come pick you up, if you wanted to.”

The offer made Agni’s heart swell so large it hurt. He swallowed, put the stick back where he found it and hugged his waist.

“Why are you being nice to me?”

Sebastian's face fell. He sat up and crossed his legs, picked at the laces on his thick, black boots.

“I used to eat lunch on my own,” he admitted, drumming his fingers over the leather.

Agni exhaled and stared down at a crumpled t-shirt on the floor. He couldn’t shift the heavy feeling in his stomach, his face hot and his heart restless. It tripled in speed when the bed creaked and the other boy got up, coming to stand before him. Agni stared up through his eyelashes, at least a head shorter than the taller boy.

“Just think about it,” the boy said, grabbing Agni by the arms, his fingers almost curling the entire way around them. “No one would fuck with you if you joined the team.”

“Why not?”

“Because I wouldn’t let them,” Sebastian grinned, squeezing his arms before letting go.

He shrugged off his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair, stretching his arms above his head. His arms were dotted in bruises and Agni watched quietly as his skin shifted over the muscles of each shoulder.

“You know Lew Fisher is only jealous of you, right?”

Agni scoffed. “Jealous of what.”

“You're like the smartest kid in our grade. Everyone’s jealous of you. I would _kill_ for grades like yours.”

He paused, and shot Agni a charming smile. “Plus, I mean, your hair.”

He gestured at it and it made Agni comb it back behind one ear, self-conscious of the length.

“What about it?”

“It’s really pretty,” Sebastian shrugged. “Boys feel intimidated by stuff like that.”

He turned his back to tug his laces free of his boots and Agni took the opportunity to blink away the blood that darkened his entire face.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The next day at school Sebastian met him by the gate.

He was waiting there, rolling a smoke out the front of the school like he had no regard for who might see or try to stop him. The small, dumb act of rebellion made Agni’s heart sing. The sight on Sebastian’s face when he caught sight of the sixteen-year-old almost had him faint.

“Hey short-stack,” he grinned, swinging his arm over his shoulders again.

If Agni turned his cheek he could smell the leather of Sebastian’s jacket, his cologne. His knuckles were puffy and red, split open in some places, but Agni didn’t mind. He pressed into the warmth and and breathed in the handsome smell of him.

“My auntie says all the men in my family are late bloomers,” he complained. “That I’ll have a growth spurt before I’m eighteen.”

Sebastian pulled a face at him and tightened his arm into a chokehold. He messed up the back of his hair with his fingers and laughed. Agni felt his chest rumbled where it was pressed to his side.

“Sure you will, _short-stack_.”

They walked into school like that, Agni tucked under Sebastian’s arm like he belonged to the taller boy. He knew kids were staring but he paid them no mind. The warm feeling in his chest took monopoly of all his senses. The school might have burned down and Agni would not have noticed.

Sebastian was halfway through a sentence about some movie he’d watched last night when he paused. The arm around Agni tightened. The other made a fist and it raised, one finger pointed at Lew Fisher from across the school yard.

“Hey Lewis!” He shouted, heads turning. “You keep your eyes to yourself today unless you want another tooth knocked out, no?”

Agni didn’t see Lew’s frightened expression, or the way he stalked off, muttering under his breath. He only saw Sebastian, the tendon in his neck flinching as his jaw clenched.

And in that moment Agni knew he loved Sebastian, and he would love him for the next ten years.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian knew Agni was handsome.

 _Who didn’t?_ He was a heartthrob. All Sebastian had to do was type his name into Google and there it was. The evidence to suggest that Agni, his best friend, was the hottest living thing on the planet.

He had a nice smile. He was tall, stupidly smart. His hair made girls scream the most obscene shit to him while they played. His muscles, his tattoos, but most of all - how nice he was. His fans liked that. They really, really liked that.

Plus, he had a nice dick to match. Sebastian knew that, from platonic experience.

His thumb hovered over a photo on his phone, a snap of Agni taken during one of their games. He was leaning against the barricade, his hair in a ponytail and the fluorescent lights catching his cheekbones. His shirt was pulled up to exposed his tan abdomen, muscles tense and glistening with sweat.

Sebastian snorted.

“Hey, Bard.”

The blonde sat on the opposite end of the couch, too engrossed in his game to even look up. Sebastian kicked him and he grunted, hitting paused.

“ _What_.”

Sebastian flipped around his phone and showed him the photo.

“Do you think Agni is hot?”

The tips of Bard’s ears turned red.

“What the _fuck_ dude? Why the fuck would you ask me that?”

“Just answer the question,” Sebastian growled. “Is Agni hot?”

Bard’s eyes widened and he settled back against the couch cushions, staring at the coffee table. He shrugged, thumbs rubbing at the edge of his controller.

“I mean s-sure. Girls dig that whole sensitive vegan thing.”

Sebastian groaned and looked at the photo again, frowning so hard it hurt.

“Yeah, but do you think he’s hotter than me?” He asked.

“I think…” Bard said very, very slowly, “that this is the gayest thing you’ve ever asked me.”

Sebastian glared so hard at his best friend’s chiseled navel that his vision blurred and he switched his phone off in anger. He tossed it on the coffee table and draped his head dramatically over the back of the couch.

“Gun to your head,” he asked the instant Bard took his game off pause. “If you had to fuck him or me, who would it be?”

He heard Bard’s character die as he stared at the ceiling. When he rolled his head to look at the blonde he was glaring so hard Sebastian was surprised he couldn’t feel his eyes burning a hole into his skin.

“I’d rather be shot,” he said deadpan serious.

“C’mon,” Sebastian pouted. “If you had to pick. I’m pretty, right? I’m dateable.”

“Is this about Ciel Phantomhive?”

“No,” Sebastian lied, his face hot. “I’m just asking. For science.”

Bard looked at the TV and watched the words _game over_ flash across the screen. He gave up and sat the controller in his lap, turning his whole body to face his friend.

“Dude,” he laughed, reached out and shoved Sebastian’s shoulder to lighten the mood. “C’mon man. Everyone knows Agni is the type of guy you take home to meet your mom. But you’re the guy people take to bed.”

He winked, shot Sebastian a toothy smile, and then pressed _continue_ on his game.

Sebastian forced the corner of his mouth to turn up, and made the most pitiful excuse of a laugh that he possibly could. In the past it would have been exactly the answer he wanted to hear.

But in the past he hadn’t dated someone like Ciel.

……………………………………………………………………………

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter please kudos! AND, come talk to me on Tumblr: bun-o-ween :)


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